


The Heart of Darkness

by Scribe32oz



Series: The Fourth Age [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Battle Scenes, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fourth Age, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 14:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 116,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15220766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe32oz/pseuds/Scribe32oz
Summary: With the war agaist the Easterlings and the Haradrim now moving into the territories of the enemy, Aragorn learns what it is to provoke the wrath of an elf.  Legolas Greenleaf, leading an army of elves, has embarked upon a holy crusade to cleanse the land of the enemy threat but as more and more blood is spilled, Aragorn begins to wonder if Legolas' purpose is to achieving a lasting peace or to exact a personal revenge.





	1. Becoming a man

**Author's Note:**

> What has gone on before:
> 
> The proposed alliance between the Reunified Kingdom and the Easterling Confederacy has come to an end during the treaty celebrations in Minas Tirith, following the discovery that the king of the Haradrim, Ulfrain, had entered a dark alliance with the skin changers from the First Age. Ulfrain and his allies had attempted to assassinate the Ruling Council of Middle earth, comprising of Aragorn of Gondor, Eomer of Rohan, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Faramir of Ithilien, Legolas Greenleaf of the elven colony Eden Ardhon in South Ithilien and Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves and ruler of Aglarond. During the subsequent battle, the commander of his armies, Castigliari who like the rest of the Easterling Confederacy knew nothing of this pact, was forced to kill Ulfrain. Unfortunately upon his return home, the general is executed for the murder of his king.
> 
> Forces in the Easterling nations, weary of the diplomatic solutions to solve their crisis of impending famine, choose a military alternative and issues a declaration of war against the Reunified Kingdom and all its allies. As Gondor, Rohan and Ithilien rally its forces and protect the eastern boundaries, Aragorn asks Eden Ardhon maintain a neutral position in light of its vulnerable position near the Haradrim border.
> 
> Following the declaration of war, the combined armies of the Easterlings and Haradrim, called the Easterling Confederacy, led by a mysterious leader, have recruited allies across Middle earth to assail Gondor and Rohan from all sides. A pre-emptive strike is inflicted upon the village of Lebethron, where the entire population is murdered as a warning to Eden Ardhon, the elven colony in South Ithilien to not interfere in the conflict.
> 
> With the Confederacy dividing its forces to confuse the enemy, Lossarnach, the ancient fiefdom of Gondor comes under assault with only a handful of defenders. As word is sent to Ithilien where the Gondorian armies along with the Rohirrim Cavalry are gathered, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and a handful of elves successfully prevent the fall of the city which would have been an important foothold for the Confederacy if it had succeeded. However, the involvement of the elves result in orders issued to strike at Eden Ardhon.
> 
> Meanwhile rogue Dunlending tribes assault Edoras while the bulk of the Rohirrim is at Ithilien and the remaining forces protecting the city are lured away by the goblins of Moria. Disaster is averted when Lothiriel discovers a Dunlending scouting party and returns to Edoras to raise the alarm. Edoras is saved by the return of the Rohirrim cavalry led by Eomer, the King of the Mark but not before Lothiriel is forced to use her magic to kill.
> 
> An intercepted courier reveals to Legolas Greenleaf the impending danger to Eden Ardhon in retribution of his involvement in the defense of Lossarnach. Legolas returns home in the wake of significant damage to Eden Ardhon and the surrounding wood as well as the heinous violation of many of its women, including his own wife Melia. Enraged, he returns home to Mirkwood and convinces his father that the elves must join the conflict if they choose to remain in Middle earth.
> 
> With the allies of the Reunified Kingdom, nursing wounds from multiple attacks, the Easterlings and the Haradrim finally launch their biggest assault upon the fortifications of Ithilien, where Eowyn, the White Lady is forced to take part in the battle against overwhelming odds. The arrival of Legolas and the elven army of Eryn Lasgalen and Lorien save Ithilien. Faramir returns home to Ithilien and learns that Eowyn was injured during the battle and that he is going to be a father. In Edoras, Eomer marries Lothiriel of Dol Amroth before he leaves Edoras to attend a council of war in Ithilien, where it is decided that the armies of the Reunified Kingdom will retaliate by launching an offense against the territories of the enemy.

On this day, the boy had become a man.

If his father were alive to see it, it would have been an event of joyous celebration. These were the moments that fathers and sons shared best; it defined their relationship for the rest of their lives and continued when the son became the father to a new generation. His father had been an anomaly who had not wished for this occasion as much as others in his village. If he were older, he would have understood that as his father's only child, the man was not eager to see the boy grow to manhood as other men might have been with a household of sons. For his father, the boy was all that was left of a dead wife and he was in no eagerness to see his son grow to adulthood and leave him behind when his life took the boy upon a different road.

The boy who was called Damin knew little of this except that he had been loved and perhaps had been raised with a gentler hand than rightly traditional for his people. While other boys learned to fight, he had dreamed of the far away places and travelling the world to fill his senses with wonder and discovery. His father told him of days when the world was not so hard, when there was no famine, when the dry, arid heat of their lands was a place of beauty not so ravaged by the wars of gods and creatures beyond their ken. He longed to see these places. Sometimes, he would sit upon the edge of their village and stare into the vastness, knowing that there was more than just sand and heat waiting over each dune.

His father had seen the lands beyond their village for he had walked across the desert with many others, some like Sola's father who had returned home and others like Marayan's, who had not. He had many friends whose fathers had left their village and returned home and others who never came back at all becoming lost in those distant lands. Their deaths were grieved but their passing an honor, for the village elders often spoke that it was necessary to defend one's home, to take arms and protect it at all costs, even when the cause did not seem right or just. To guard against the enemy was to hurt him first, to show him that they were strong and fearsome, worthy of respect and therefore caution.

Damin learn this in school with other boys his age, absorbing it with as much understanding but tempered with his father's wisdom who often countered that while it was necessary to fight, it was also sometimes necessary to yield, to sue for peace and survive. His father had been a contradiction, a man who believed in peace and yet forged weapons for a living. He made the finest weapons of war and Damin was proud to see great warriors from all across the land come in search of his unique blades. Damin himself was too small to handle any of his father's wares and in truth, his father was not eager for him to know the weapon. It was a source of some irritation because other boys were already rewarded with their own and he was not.

However, he had his dreams and his secret plans of far away adventure, where beasts greater than the mumakils lived. Great serpents breathing flame that flew in the air leveling whole villages and eagles who wings could carry a man across the sky, did battle with them. In secret, his father spoke of races older than man, of such profound beauty that to gaze upon them was akin at looking into the sky and seeing Varda's starlight embodied in flesh. He wondered about these folk who did not die, who were luminous in their hearts and in their knowledge, who had been alive longer than man.

The great lord who ruled over them was one of such folk, fair and beautiful. He lived in his tower far away from their own lands, in a place of his own, surrounded by wall of mountains that spewed ash and flame to keep away the enemies. Their lord ensured that they would never fall under the dominion of anyone. Since he was born, Damin heard the tales of the lord's envoys who came and took away their best warriors to protect their lands; some as recent as three seasons ago when a good deal had gone across the desert. Damin had watched them go, amidst the weeping of women, who never understood the importance of such duty, wearing their mail and carrying their curved blades, ready to fight in a great conflict whose outcome everyone feared.

It was the conflict that preceded the Great Hunger.

They did not come back, most of them and those who did, seemed sad as if the honor that was promised to them when they marched was no more. They returned home and suddenly there no longer seemed to exist enough food. Their return proceeded a spell of heat where no rain came and what meager crops they had failed, withered away in dust and thirst. The tributes and gifts of grain from their great lord no longer came and for the first time in his life, Damin knew what it was to feel a hunger so intense, it gnawed at one's inside and drove away dreams of adventures into forgetfulness.

His father no longer made swords and what he had, he could not sell at their proper price. He went away with some of the other fathers and they returned many weeks later with bags of seed and tools for farming. Water became precious and none of it could be wasted as village began planting. Their water was rationed because they needed to irrigate crops and though it was hard for their lands was never good for such an occupation, small buds were coaxed through difficult soil in the spring. When it came time to reap the benefits of what they had sown, the harvest had been a small one but enough for them to stave off the effects of the famine.

Then  _he_  came and it all changed again.

He came from the south, with skin as black as jet and he wore the cloak of an animal skin and when he journeyed with a small army, Damin thought that their lord had finally come to deliver them from their hunger, that their burden was over. However, the lord was not a lord, he was a king and a warrior king at that. He brought no tribute but instead, spoke of breaking the cycle of hunger by going forth one last time to the lands beyond the dunes, to take back what they had lost. He spoke of honor and glory with such eloquence that Damin was moved. When he left, many had gone with him and his small army had become a much larger one.

  
His father had remained behind and more strangely had not made swords for the departing army. The warrior king had told him he was a fool and Damin could not understand why his father would be rebuked for not wanting to fight. There were tears of sorrow in his father's eyes when he saw them march away and the women wept again. Damin wondered why there should be such sadness when the warrior king had promised the fruits of this departure would be the end to the famine and all would have food in their bellies for the coming months, perhaps for all time.

And like the others, only a few had come back

But this time, there was no sadness or defeat in their eyes when they returned. Damin saw something he had never seen before. He saw their fear and it spread across the village like a brush fire. Damin had tried to ask his father why were people fleeing for the hills, why the return of the soldiers had caused such anxiety. His father did not answer but spoke that there were races beyond their lands and while they could be cruel, they could also be kind also and his father did not think they would be cruel.

"They are the First Born," his father had explained.

  
"Are we going to see them father?" He had asked.

His father nodded grimly and replied, "yes."

Half the village fled, terrified of some coming evil. Many remained including his father who did not believe the stories that was spoken about in hushed whispers, stories the children were not supposed to hear but his father began making swords again. This time, these were not for warriors on the way across the desert but for people Damin saw everyday, the shepherd, the baker, the farmer and the merchants. Even the warriors who returned home were now preparing for the coming storm of which none of the elders would speak but whose presence was overwhelming because of their fear.

Damin understood why when he was awoken one night by the thundering of hooves against the dirt. He woke from his bed and ran to the window, hearing a growing cacophony of sound as the rest of village made the same discovery. He peered out of the window and saw the signal fires throughout the town coming to life. Bright tongues of amber gave illumination to the invaders, their hair gleaming in the light as they rode through the village astride horses with no saddles. Damin had seen horses before but never in so many number and he had never seen them ridden like this. They did not possess the formidability of the mumakils but they able to move into narrow streets and they crossed the village faster.

The screams began soon after the first arrow flew from the riders on horseback.

They flew fast and accurate, striking the villagers whom had emerged from their homes to defend themselves. Women and children were ordered to remain in their homes as the men went to fight. From his window, Damin saw them, the invaders, their gleaming mail, their elegant swords, and their swift and sure arrows. He saw the fathers of his friends falling, struck down by the riders who cut them to ribbons and spared no one man, not even those who in the face of danger had dropped their sword and fled. They were struck down ruthlessly, a savage death delivered by a not so savage enemy.

  
He saw them climb off their horses when it was time to sweep the village and eradicate the last remaining bit of resistance. Long, golden hair that captured the light as they moved and they moved like nothing Damin had ever seen. Graceful like birds in the sky, their armors gleaming like a thing of beauty against their bodies. It was easy to be mesmerized even when they raised their swords to kill. He watched and knew at last that these were the folk his father had spoke of for so long, the fair and beautiful folk from across the desert. The ones who did not know death and yet had little difficulty dispensing it this night.

He watched them sweep into houses, entering them amidst screams and emerging from them after those same cries had ended abruptly, their blades dripping with blood, droplets following them across the dirt. They killed only the men and that realization was slow to dawn upon Damin in the face of the carnage he was bearing witness to. It was only when he saw his father at the door of his room, ordering him under the bed, did he realize the danger.

"I do not want to hide," he protested, staring at his father who was holding a sword in one hand. In all his life, Damin had never seen his father wield a sword even though he was a weapon smith. The curved scimitar in his hand was old and not the same as those his father sold to others. Without hearing him say it, Damin knew that this was his father's sword, the one he carried with him when he had crossed the desert in his youth.

"You have to hide," his father had said before embracing him and there was a finality to the act that brought tears immediately to Damin's face. "You will not emerge until I come for you," he added but Damin looked into his eyes and knew he was lying.

His father left him huddled beneath the frame of his bed before running out once more. Damin's head was pressed to the ground and he heard the door swing open followed by the clanging of swords. However, it was a sharp cry that made him forget all about his father's warning. He hurried out and paused at the sight of what greeted him. The tall man, with the long golden hair stood there meeting his gaze, his blade wet with blood while at his feet Damin's father lay dead, his blood creating a crimson pool beneath him. The golden warrior stared at Damin for a moment, his blue eyes taking in the sight of him before his brow furrowed into an unfathomable expression that Damin would have recognized as guilt had he been older.

"I am sorry little one," he whispered.

Damin had said nothing and lowered to his knees, his small hands brushing his father's cheek. He was unaware that the tears running down his face was a far sharper blade against the warrior who had taken his father's life than any that could break skin. The golden warrior turned away, unable to look upon what he had wrought and it was only then that Damin's hands found the hilt of his father's sword. A burst of rage and grief forced the child, who would turn nine on his next birthday, to take up the blade and lunge at the warrior retreating through the door.

The enemy swung, sensing the danger with a keen sight that Damin did not think was real and reacted accordingly as any soldier confronted by a sudden attack would do. His blade sliced through Damin's heart, cleaving it in two even before he realized what he had one. As Damin's life drained away in seconds, he saw the face of his killer, one of the fair folk and what his father used to call an elf, twist in agony, an expression of profound horror following him into the darkness of death.

As death claimed Damin of Axinar, who held a sword in his hand when he fell, his last thought was that on this day, the boy had become a man.

His father would have been proud.


	2. The Wrath of Elves

The dry heat burned into his skin beneath his clothes and for once Aragorn Elessar was grateful that his armour was packed away for the moment and he had no need of it. Gazing upwards, the sun seemed to glare back with indifference and forced the king of the Reunified Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, to wipe the sweat forming on his brow. Lowering his eyes to the road ahead, he longed for a view of rolling green hills, tall trees whose roots ran deep into fresh loamy soil and the light mist of morning drifting across the land. He thought of his days in the wild, enjoying the quiet beauty of the forest and wished more than anything that he could be there today instead of this desolate place they were forced to traverse.

Ahead of him, there was nothing but empty dry, craggy terrain, where scorpions lurked under every stone as some of his men had learnt the hard way since this journey had begun. Water was a commodity more valuable than gold in this place and during the past weeks, they had learnt to ration it carefully. Watering holes did exist but they were rare and since the maps of this part of Middle earth spoke of no rivers for quite some distance, their advance into enemy territory could grind to a halt if they wasted their water supplies. It was not to say that they were unsupplied. In truth, they were exceedingly well equipped because Aragorn’s first order after the decision to invade was made was the creation of an efficient supply line, which they had done.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Faramir too had given his armour and was clad once again in the clothes that he had worn as a Ranger. It was an idea Aragorn had subscribed to even though he was force to don sufficient regalia to ensure that no one mistook him for anyone but the king. In terms of morale, it was a necessary evil unfortunately. The Prince of Ithilien was staring into the distance but Aragorn doubted he was aware of anything ahead of him, preferring to let his horse to do the work of riding. The king suppressed a little smile, perfectly aware of what thoughts were running through the younger man’s head especially after learning that he was going to be a father.

"Have you thought of a name?" Aragorn could not resist teasing.

Faramir turned to him with question in his eyes, realising that Aragorn had spoken if not exactly what he had said. "You spoke?"

"I see you are going to be no good to anyone until this child is born," the king joked.

Faramir laughed conceding defeat.

"I apologise Aragorn," Faramir replied, familiar with his king well enough to know that the man liked to be addressed by his name, not by his title. Faramir suspected that this allowed Aragorn to keep some semblance of his former life intact, to know his identity had not been absorbed entirely into the persona of the king. "My thoughts are elsewhere," Faramir confessed.

"That is no surprise to me," Aragorn smiled, remembering how he had behaved when Eldarion was born and was planning to take great delight when Faramir exhibited those same symptoms. "I asked if you had thought of a name."

Faramir nodded, recalling the few days he had spent in Ithilien before the council had made their decision to take the offensive in their war against the Confederacy. Eowyn was still recovering from her injuries during the battle at their fortress of the Eastern Eye and he had spent most of his time at her side, when he was not required to deal with preparations for their march into enemy territory. Even though the event was months away, both of them had delighted in enjoying what scant time they had together discussing it like any proud couple about to bear their first child.

"If it is a girl, Eowyn wishes to name her Théodwyn after her mother," Faramir revealed.

"That is a pretty name," Aragorn nodded, recalling that Theoden’s only sister had passed when Eowyn and Eomer were children. "And if it is a boy?"

"If it is a boy then he will be named Boromir," Faramir said quietly.

"That would be fine indeed," Aragorn replied meeting his gaze and showing his approval of Faramir’s choice. Even now, Aragorn missed Denethor’s oldest son deeply and knew that Boromir would have thrilled in the war they were waging upon the enemies who had plagued Gondor for all his life. He remembered their drinking sessions during their journey with the Fellowship and the memory of all of Boromir’s dreams for Gondor. The One Ring had used his love for his homeland to break him but Aragorn would never begrudge him for that. Boromir was his friend and would be for all time.

"I think he would have liked to have been an uncle," Faramir added sadly.

A moment of awkward silence followed where neither man spoke. Instead, they cast their gaze upon the road ahead and continued their trek across the dry, parched land. It had been almost two months since they had departed from Ithilien and began the journey southwards. Travelling along the Harad Road, they crossed the River Pouros into the lands of Haradwaith, home to the Haradrim. During their incursion into enemy territory, there had been a few engagements but nothing matching the intensity of battle that had taken place when the Confederacy had invaded Ithilien, Gondor and Rohirrim lands. Aragorn suspected that the Haradrim were consolidating their forces to defend more important targets deeper in their territory.

The elven army had taken the lead in the offensive because they required less rest than an army of men and were able to cover greater distance. Aragorn wanted them to conduct reconnaissance of the terrain they travelling since their knowledge of Haradwaith was scattered at best. An accurate knowledge of where the local watering holes were, what communities might aid them in exchange for mercy and perhaps some supplies of grain - because Aragorn knew the country was in the grips of a famine - might lessen the cost in lives for both armies. They were journeying to rendezvous with Legolas and hoped that the elf and his folk had succeeded in securing the valuable information required.

The sound of hoofs beating behind them caused Aragorn to look over his shoulder and see Eomer approaching. The King of the Mark had departed earlier to inspect the ranks of the Rohirrim cavalry and offer words of encouragement during this long trek. It was a duty that Aragorn had advised all the leaders riding with him to attend, having done the same for the Gondorian foot soldiers. It was purely for the purposes of morale because Aragorn believed firmly that kings should never become too set apart from their people. He marched with them for a few paces, soliciting their opinions on any improvements that could make the journey smoother and employed them when suggestions were good. He knew Eomer and Imrahil were of similar mind and the effect seemed to improve the speed of their advance.

"How are the Rohirrim today? Aragorn asked when Eomer joined them.

"Hot and bothered," Eomer said shortly, removing his helmet when his horse sidled along side of Aragorn’s steed, Roheryn. "They do not mind the journey as much as they mind the heat and the anticipation of battle. Its this slow, moving caravan that bothers them."

"Typical cavalry men," Faramir snorted, "always believing that their component of the army is the most important."

"Well," Eomer gave him a look, "it is difficult to imagine why anyone would choose to fight without a horse."

"You Rohirrim have been spoiled by your saddles," Aragorn laughed. "There is nothing like keeping one’s feet to the ground in order to gain true perspective of a situation."

"I will remember that during the next battle when you are all being trampled to death by mumakils, " Eomer said dryly.

"There should be a village ahead," Faramir remarked, studying one of the few accurate maps they had of the area. Legolas had provided it during their last meeting and as Faramir looked across the dry, arid landscape, he could see no signs of it yet. Still, they were moving uphill and would most likely see it once they had passed the crest of the rise.

  
"Axinar," Aragorn nodded, remembering it from his own study of the map. "It is meant to be a small farming community. Their principal crop is corn."

"Corn?" Eomer stared at him. "Judging by the land, their rains have not come in quite some time, are they able to sustain growth?"

"Meagrely, I understand," Aragorn replied. "The Rangers who have come this deep have claimed that many communities, now deprived of Sauron’s tributes were forced to make their own food. Maize is a coarse grain but I believe it can grow with very little rain."

"If they had followed through with the treaty," Faramir shook his head, despising the fact that they were warring needlessly with an enemy whose people were the verge of starvation.

"Yes," Aragorn nodded sombrely. If it were not for the shape shifters who destroyed the treaty that the Reunified Kingdom was attempting to forge with the Confederacy, they would not be here now. The ruination of the treaty had driven the Confederacy to adopt desperate measures to feed their people and those measures were nothing less than an assault upon Middle earth.

Lebethron, Lossarnach, Edoras, Ithilien and Eden Ardhon had been summarily attacked and the cost in lives had mobilized the greatest army of men and elves in the Western lands since the War of the Ring.

"Do you hear that?" Faramir asked as they approached the top of the hill.

"What?" Aragorn looked at him.

"Listen," Faramir instructed his king and his face became taut with concentration.

Aragorn and Eomer exchanged puzzled looks before focusing as best they could on this elusive sound that Faramir was speaking of. A moment passed and then another where there was nothing and then, they could hear it. It was soft still because of distance but there was a sharpness to it that carried in the wind.

"It’s weeping," Faramir raised his eyes to Aragorn. "I think it is weeping."

"Look," Eomer said a moment later when they reached the top of the hill and looked down at the village of Axinar below them.

"Sweet Elbereth," Aragorn’s voice escaped him as he saw what had driven the voice from both Eomer and Faramir in seconds.

Beneath them was a village no bigger than Lebethron which had been the first to suffer the brunt of the enemy invasion. The community was small in comparison to the cornfields at its northern face. The fields of green was a stark contrast to the rest of the parched landscape and Aragorn saw water bores positioned around them to irrigate the dry soil. The field was untouched and looked pristine, a welcoming sight for a people who were accustomed to forests and great, rolling hills of green. However, the rest of Axinar turned his blood cold in his veins.

The sound of weeping was still too far to be heard clearly but Aragorn had no need to hear it any sooner. Bodies were strewn across the street, blood draining into the dry sand. Women were lamenting the fate of their men, some cradling bodies rocking back and forth, holding their children in their arms, children who were now fatherless. Some buildings were gutted with fire, the embers of which had already started to cool because they had seen no evidence of a fire before this. A great calamity had swept through this village and committed an act of butchery he had not seen since Lebethron.

"Who did this?" Eomer demanded, the man of Rohirrim so much like Boromir at times in the fact that he shared the man of Gondor’s strong sense of outrage as well as temper. "Most of those men look like farmers."

Aragorn did not speak but a dreadful suspicion was creeping up his spine, one he dared not voiced even though he could see the same conclusion dawning upon Faramir, if not Eomer. Eomer’s senses were too filled with disgust at the carnage to think clearly as to who might be responsible but for Aragorn and Faramir, who were not as impulsive as the horse lord, the answer screamed out in their minds.

"Faramir," Aragorn said staring at head at the devastated village, not even turning to his Steward as he spoke, "tell everyone we will hold here for now. I want a small detachment of men to help with the bodies and see what rations we can spare. With the men gone, these folk have no one left to harvest the corn. Also, we will need Pallando. I believe he is riding with Imrahil at the rear. We will need him to speak for us."

"It will be done," Faramir nodded, tugging the reins of his horse gently and retreating up the column of the army.

Aragorn nudged Roheryn forward, his expression one of stone.

  
"You are going down there?" The King of the Mark asked the obvious question.

"Yes," Aragorn nodded sombrely, seeing nothing but the dead,. He prayed that he was wrong but deep inside of him, he knew he was not.

* * *

Eomer would not allow Aragorn to go into the village of Axinar alone. While the army halted their progress on the outskirts of the community, the two riders made their way into the village and saw the aftermath of a bloody night of terror. Women were weeping next to their men, children were wandering about, the horror of last night’s events reflected in their dazed expressions. At the sight of them, the women screamed and ran away in fright, picking up their children and vanishing into their home of mud brick. Goats, which appeared to be the primary meat source in this part of the realm, brayed anxiously in their pens at the human stampede. The heat of the sun was taking its toll upon the bodies, bloating them as the stench of dust began to take on a decidedly rancid odour.

Aragorn dismounted and swept his gaze across the village, at the faces too despaired to run in fear. There were trails of blood leading from the open doors of houses, a clear indication of what violence transpired here the night before. He wiped his nose at the smell of charred wood and stared at one home long enough to see the burnt skeleton within its ruins. A child peered out a window and quickly retreated as flies buzzed noisily around the corpse in front of her home. Aragorn walked to the dead man and waved away the flies feeding off his blood and torn flesh. He studied the man’s hands briefly and noticed the worn leather of his flesh, the hard calluses. Whatever, this man did for a living, it was not soldiering.

His eyes caught sight of a brooch and reached for it. Examining the fine piece of silver in his hands, his stomach hollowed and he clenched his fist around it, not caring that the pin dug into his skin or that after a moment, rivulets of blood were running down his hands. He wanted to scream but he was almost beyond anger. He had not been so angry since he had found Boromir but this time, it was not a murderous Uruk-Hai that had earned his rage and that realisation made his anguish even worse.

"Aragorn," Eomer came to him and saw the blood. "Your hand."

The King of Rohan took Aragorn’s hand and Aragorn did not have the will to stop him. Eomer opened his palm and saw the blood drenched brooch in his hand. It did not take him long to reach to the same conclusion as Aragorn and his intense green eyes met Aragorn, wanting the Gondorian king to tell him that he was wrong but Aragorn said nothing of the sort and Eomer could understand why Aragorn had acted as he had.

"This is elvish," Eomer exclaimed, staring at the ornate design of the elven brooch. He had seen the trinket against the cloaks of Legolas' soldiers. "How could it be elvish?"

Aragorn could not bring himself to answer because he feared the worst. Ever since Legolas had offered to use his army as an advance party, Aragorn had prayed that the elf had no ulterior motive for the gesture. Now it appeared that he had been right and Legolas had an agenda that none of them were aware.

"They would not have done this," Eomer stated, "they could not have. These people are farmers and common folk by the look of them. They are not soldiers." His gaze wept across the lay of village and absorbed the full measure of his tragedy.

"We will wait until Pallando arrives," Aragorn said quietly. "He knows the Haradrim tongue, perhaps he will be able to learn what happened here."

"You think that the elves did this, do you not?" Eomer met his gaze, astute enough to see past the anguish Aragorn was trying so hard to hide.

"It is possible," Aragorn finally confessed.

"You are wrong," Eomer declared because he counted Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm as one of his friends. The elf was always so calm and collected. To imagine that he could be party to such butchery was beyond Eomer's ability to grasp and yet Aragorn, who knew the elf best, believed it. He believed it so much that his blood had run red over his hand at the discovery of the brooch.

"Oh Elbereth," Eomer hissed because now, he was starting to believe and as his skepticism gave way, the ramifications of the truth began to take shape in his mind. "We cannot let him do this."

"It will be difficult to stop him," Aragorn said turning away and wondering if there was anyone left alive that could benefit from his skills as a healer or were the elves thorough enough to have left no wounded behind, only the dead. "Firstly, we need their numbers in this war since we have not even penetrated the heart of Haradwraith and secondly, as disgusting as this butchery may appear to us, he is clearing our way."

"Clearing our way?" Eomer swung around and faced Aragorn, "is that what you call this? This people are dead! These are fathers, uncles, brothers and husbands who have been murdered before their people. I agreed to ride with you to conquer these lands to ensure peace, not to become party to this slaughter. What has been done here today will be branded into the minds of every child in this village and they will grow up thinking that we are not better than murderers. All that has been done here is to laid the seeds for future acts of vengeance when children become men!"

"DO YOU THINK I DO NOT KNOW THAT!" Aragorn shouted with just as much rage. "Do you think it does not tear me apart inside seeing that this violence may have been the result of my friend’s anger? Ever since Eden Ardhon, he has been a different person and I cannot reach him. He blames himself entirely for what happened to Melia and his people and the utter annihilation of the Confederacy had become his obsession!"

Eomer swallowed, understanding Aragorn’s turmoil and like the King of Gondor had no adequate response. "What are we do if they are responsible for this?" he asked quietly even though the notion that someone else had perpetrated this crime was dwindling fast in Eomer's mind.

"I do not know," Aragorn spoke honestly, "but at the moment I do not know how we can stop the elves. He has filled every elf in his army with outrage over what was done at Eden Ardhon. To them, there is no greater sin than rape. That it was done to the women of an elven colony, there is no forgiveness and there will be no restraint. I suppose if they are responsible for this, we ought to be grateful that they only killed the men."

"That is not a consolation that I can live with," Eomer said sourly and drew in a deep breath because he did not like the taste of Aragorn’s words and yet he would have to swallow it. He would have to because Aragorn was right.

If the elves were on a crusade then Elbereth help them, no one would be able to stop them.

* * *

They would not linger long at Axinar.

Aragorn could not stomach being forced to look at the faces of despair in the wake of the attack the night before, particularly after Pallando the Istar confirmed irrefutably from the survivors that it was the elves who responsible for the massacre. From what he had been able to ascertain from the distraught womenfolk who were questioned, Legolas and the elven army had swept through the village after dark and killed every man who opposed them and then continued on those who did not. The elves had been extremely precise in their actions throughout the village, moving from home to home in a methodical manner and ensuring that when they left no adult male was left alive in any household in Axinar.

While the army camped on the hill where he had left them, Aragorn assisted the detachment of men with the disposal of the bodies. Pallando had informed Aragorn that the Haradrim did not bury their dead but rather sent them into the afterlife in a pyre of flame. It was sensible considering the terrain of hard earth made it difficult to dig for purposes other than farming. Cremation ensured a quick efficient means of burial without unnecessary exposure of the body, which would decompose quickly in the heat.

Aragorn had sent for Pallando prior to their departure from Ithilien. The wizard had been in Isengard for the past months, offering guidance to the acolytes trained by Gandalf before he departed across the sea. While Pallando did not wish to become master of Orthanc, remembering all too well the corruption of the last person to bear that title, he did remain close enough to ensure that all of Gandalf’s students could seek him out if they needed assistance. Aragorn could not deny that it was comforting to have the older man's presence during this campaign. The last time Aragorn had led an army, Gandalf had been at his side to most extent and the wizards’s counsel had been valuable indeed. Pallando was proving to be a similar asset since he knew the terrain to some degree having journeyed through here once before as well as knowing the languages spoken by the Haradrim.

Pallando, who had a deep friendship with King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, was clearly disturbed by the massacre in Axinar. They no longer deluded themselves into believing that it could be anything else. Legolas had been the first member of the Fellowship to encounter the wizard and they had formed a deep friendship. It was Legolas who had encouraged Aragorn to meet the one of the last remaining Istar in Middle earth. For Pallando, it was difficult to believe that the passionate, noble elf had been responsible for this carnage.

As the day stretched into night, Aragorn and his men ensured that the village were supplied with what rations they could spare which was to say less than adequate, considering that the harvest was months away and there was not enough livestock to sustain them in the interim. Even if there was, the traditional role of women in Haradrim society ensured that they were knowledgeable only in matters involving the household and the rearing of children. Some were skilled in the crafts, namely weaving and basket making which was considered acceptable pursuits by Haradrim society but farming was entirely a man's duty.

"Perhaps we could leave some of our men behind," Faramir suggested as they discussed what to be done as it drew closer to their time of departure.

"We could never be assured of their safety," Aragorn replied, having thought that. "We assume that the Haradrim have marshalled their forces to engage us further ahead but if we are mistaken, they may well return here and it would not bode well for our soldier if they were found in a village where all the men were murdered."

"I have difficulty believing that Legolas did this," Eomer confessed. His previous disbelief still lingered even though he no longer doubted the culpability of the elves in the massacre. It was just so impossible to believe.

"We all do," Pallando said sympathetically, "but in their time, they have known wrath and in their wrath, they can be terrible indeed. Take heart that there is some measure of restraint in their actions. They could have killed everyone here, they did not."

"We must keep moving," Aragorn said finally moving away from the subject since there was little they could do about it, "we will meet up with Legolas soon enough and discuss the matter fully."

"I doubt you will make him see reason," Faramir added.

"I do not expect him to see reason, but I am hoping that he has not done to all the villages ahead what he did here," Aragorn declared grimly.

"You do no think…." Eomer exclaimed in horror at the full ramifications of Aragorn's statement.

"Axinar is perhaps the first village of size we have encountered," the king answered, "from this point on they will grow until we reach the larger cities. If Legolas is conducting a methodical cleansing of all havens the enemy might attempt use to launch an attack upon our forces, then it is very possible. I pray that it is otherwise."

"We will need more than prayer if the elven army has embarked on a crusade," Pallando replied, remembering the exodus of Feanor, the Kinslaying that followed and all the destruction that was wrought in the world when the elves had decided to avenge themselves against Morgoth or die trying. In the end, Beleriand had been destroyed and Feanor, as well as most of his kin, was dead.

Pallando hope it would not come to that for Legolas.

* * *

In the city of Mahazar, on the banks of the river Sanara, Dallanar, king of Haradwraith pondered how the grand scheme to restore the pride of his people had taken such a disastrous turn. Staring out of the balcony window, the king’s gaze swept across the line of trees that kept the city from the grounds of the palace. With the exception of the palace, Haradrim architecture ensured that most buildings in the city were constructed low to the ground, following the traditional belief that the king should always stand higher above ordinary folk. It was a bit of nonsense that Dallanar did not himself subscribe to but it would have been considered a grave insult to remove the tradition.

Fortunately, from the balcony of his throne room, he was afforded a panoramic view of Mahazar and the Sanara that ran along its eastern border. Canals had been built centuries ago to bring water into the city, turning Mahazar into a true oasis in the desert. The Sanara was the main waterway in Haradwraith and along its banks, the great cities of Near Harad and Far Harad had been built. The river connected both parts of the Haradrim nation and was not merely a primary water source but also an important transit way. In the centre of this winding river system was Mahazar, the undisputed capital of Haradwraith for that had been established by the forebears of Ulfang, almost five centuries ago.

It was not a city of tall spires and white towers like Minas Tirith. Other than the palace, no building in Mahazar was built higher than three floors. Instead of spires, the main architectural characteristic of Haradrim buildings was its domed shape. The domed shape had been adopted primarily to combat the harsh sand storms that sometimes blew in unexpectedly from the desert. The occurrence was rare but the damage wrought had taught Haradrim architects to relinquish the traditional concepts of construction. Erected from either sandstone or mud brick, depending on economic circumstances, Mahazar was now a domed city with the short palms trees littering its streets. During the interludes of war, it was a busy place, with traders, merchants and people from all walks of life going about their business.

Gods, he loved it.

As a child he would wander the streets, becoming lost in smells, sights and sounds. In those days, Mahazar had been a grand place indeed during the pause between wars. Though it was a fact of life that they could be called on to serve the lord of Mordor at any given time, for most past Sauron was some distant force that provided their outer regions with tributes while demanding their industry be devoted to the business of war. They knew that he had plans for a great battle and that the enemies of the west would be quick to infringe upon their territories if they did not display a show of strength. The men of the west were always encroaching upon their lands, claiming lordship of Middle earth.

They had been bred to think of the races of the western lands as the enemy. The dislike for Gondor had become so ingrained into their existence that they no longer knew how to exist in any other way. When Dallanar had embarked upon his war, it had been for as much as territory as an assurance that Gondor did not attempt to conquer them in their weakened state. The famine had yet to reach the cities along the river but the rest of the Haradrim nation was suffering, as terribly as the Easterlings in their own lands. More and more starving people were flocking to Mahazar and cities like it, and though the Sanara was a healthy river with plenty of bounty, even Danallar knew that it was dangerous to overfish. If the Sanara were to run dry, it would be nothing less than disaster for the Haradrim.

The drought had yet to break in many parts of the country with crops failing everywhere. Driven by hunger, the people of Haradwraith were being forced into the cities but the relief they found there would only be temporary. Dallanar had thought the invasion of the Reunified Kingdom would provide him access to grain rich lands that would feed his people. The Gondorian king was weak and too filled with notions of peace to be able to mount a suitable defence if Dallanar could keep him off balance. The horse lords, though formidable, were no match for the mumakils. He had sent agents across the enemy territories in secret, gathering allies from disaffected races that had been defeated in the War of the Ring. To reclaim pride and vengeance, they were happy to assist in the war effort.

The only gamble had been the elves.

He knew that if there were any elf remaining in Middle earth that would become involve in the affairs of men, it would undoubtedly be Legolas Greenleaf of Eden Ardhon. His ties with the Gondorian king were too well known. Dallanar had gambled on the elf wishing to protect his own when he had ordered the slaughter at Lebethron. However, that had done little to keep the elves from aiding in the defence of Lossarnach, a strategic target that would have been invaluable to the eventual downfall of Gondor. In anger, he decided the elf needed a more prolific lesson and so the order was given to attack Eden Ardhon.

In truth, he found rape distasteful but it was a useful tool and employed against elves, whose especial hatred of it was infamous, Dallanar was certain that it would enough to teach Legolas the abject lesson he needed to learn. There were rumours that the elf had married a human and an Easterling at that. The possibility had been discounted because the notion was absurd. The Eldar did not join with mortals. However, in the wake of Eden Ardhon, Dallanar was faced with the unexpected news that the elf lord’s wife was indeed an Easterling and that she had been one of the women violated.

His words to Legolas during their battle had been nothing more than posturing. In reality, he had not been at all happy to hear that she had been defiled and had assumed that the lady would have been removed from Eden Ardhon as any queen would have been under the threat of the attack. When he had learnt that an Easterling female had been among the violated, Dallanar realized he had made a fatal mistake because it was one thing to inflict such an evil upon his people but to ravage a wife? That was an entirely different kind of hate and one not so easily quelled. In Haradwraith, a wife could be assured of her husband’s utmost protection even if her freedoms were limited. It was a mistake that had culminated with the elven forces swarming to the rescue of Ithilien and almost annihilating the bulk of the Confederacy’s army.

Now, he stared through the balcony at Mahazar while behind him, his generals read reports of the enemy’s advance into Haradwraith. Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon had fallen to the elven advance, villages and towns that had been savagely attacked with every man in the village slaughtered. The outer lands were swiftly becoming a population of women and children. The elves were spearheading the push towards the capital cities and following behind, wiping out any lingering resistance was the Gondorian king and his allies. So far both sides had avoided major engagements because Dallanar was determined to choose their battlefield. As much as he despised it, he would have to abandon the outer regions for the defense of the larger cities.

"Enough," he turned around and faced his war council," I have heard enough."

  
"Sire," Khamis, the supreme commander of his army wore no repentance on his face for the grim delivery of news. "We must amass our remaining forces to defend Sanara belt. The Firstborn do not sleep as we do. They require little rest so they cover great distances. In a matter of weeks, they will be upon our doorstep."

"What about our allies in Khand?" Dallanar asked.

"The Variags are marching as we speak but they will not arrive for at least 45 days," his prime minister replied. "The Easterlings are conscripting since it is believed the Firstborn will turn their attention to Rhun once they are finished with us. It is in their best interest to prevent Haradwraith from falling. If the Firstborn can be halted at the Sanara belt, they may reconsider the invasion of Easterling territories."

"Then we have a sizeable army at our disposal if we can hold them," Danallar looked at them for confirmation.

"Yes," Khamis nodded. "However, we ourselves suffered losses at Ithilien, our ranks are low."

"Then we will follow the lead of the Easterlings," Dallanar declared seeing no other solution and refusing to concede defeat, no matter who the enemy, "we will conscript. Every man past his eighteen year will make himself available to military service or face the consequences. I will speak to our people and tell them that there are barbarians at our gates, that the murderers of our Lord Sauron seek to destroy us just as he predicted. We will stoke the fire of outrage in them so fiercely that it will overwhelm the First Born and the Alliance of the Reunified Kingdom."

* * *

"Are you alright Master Gimli?" Haldir of Lorien asked of the dwarf who was perched on rock at the edge of the elven encampment, staring out into the horizon of desert terrain watching the slow descent of night upon the land.

During the day, the land of Harad was warm and dusty but at the night, the temperatures lowered considerably and it was actually quite pleasant. There was a light breeze sweeping across the desert on this night but not enough to assail them with grains of sand though they had become more than accustomed to it in recent weeks. Gimli had endured the worst of it for he was constantly shaking dust out of his beard, which seemed to perfect catchment for the infernal particles. However, the physical discomfort was the least of the dwarf's worries at this moment. What caused him grave concern had nothing to do with the desert and everything to do with the state of mind of his best friend.

"I am well, Master Elf," Gimli said gruffly, wishing to be left alone. He and Haldir did not have a relationship that could be considered warm. In truth, he wished he had reconsidered Aragorn's offer to journey with the king instead of accompanying Legolas in this advance expedition into enemy territory.

"I merely wished to be left alone," Gimli added. He had no desire to be rude, however he needed solitude at this time and had little patience for conversation.

Haldir was not an elf capable of being deterred by an unruly dwarf and lowered himself next to Gimli who was staring at him in growing annoyance at not being left alone. The march warden ignored the muttering noise of disapproval made by the dwarf, remembering with fondness their first meeting, which was less than amicable. Dwarves and elves seldom saw anything eye to eye, which was why he had been somewhat surprised by the friendship forged between the Prince of Mirkwood and the Lord of Aglarond. However, Haldir sensed that he had an ally in Gimli and at this moment, he needed to be in the company of someone who was just as distressed about what was happening around them as he.

"These have been difficult days," Haldir stated tentatively as he gazed up at the stars and found no comfort in Varda’s light.

"Is that what you call it?" Gimli answered, his voice barely managing to sound biting.

"I do not know what to call it," Haldir confessed. "I know that I will not be able to look at myself in the mirror for many years after this."

Gimli turned sharply to the elf, surprised that one whose prejudice for dwarves was infamous, would make such a personal comment. He saw Haldir’s gaze devoid of its usual arrogance or haughtiness, which stayed his urge to make a sarcastic comment.

"I doubt you will be the only one," he admitted after awhile.

"It was not meant to be like this," Haldir replied, grateful that Gimli had deign to speak to him instead of brushing him away. "This was meant to be a campaign to prevent what happened to Eden Ardhon from happening once more. When I heard that the Lady Melia had been defiled, I was outraged."

In truth, he had been more than outraged. As one who once thought he might have loved the lady, he had been furious despite his reconciliation with his feelings about her. One only had to see Legolas and Melia together to know that they were made for one another and Haldir had was not one to pine for someone he could not have, especially when she was human. However, despite all the very sensible reasons why he should not love her and had learned not to, he still cared for Melia. To hear that she had been harmed so callously had made him more than willing to join Legolas on this crusade to end the Confederacy threat.

"I wanted to avenge her honour almost as badly as the Prince," Haldir continued to speak, "it was my counsel that aided Thranduil efforts in convincing my lord Celeborn to sent troops under the Prince’s banner. It was meant to be a righteous cause, to avenge and cleanse the world of men from a people that not only threatened our allies but also ourselves but I never imagined it would come to this."

Until he had spoken, Haldir had not realised how unsettled he was by what had been transpiring since they had entered Haradwraith. He had stood loyally at the princes’ side, issuing orders that made him baulk in horror but delivering them nonetheless because duty demanded that he did. He knew others were similarly discontent by the orders given by Legolas Greenleaf but the lingering anger at what had taken place at Eden Ardhon quelled their objections. Yet he had seen their eyes in the aftermath of carrying those orders and while they were not ready to disobey, they would not be able to forget what they had done for a long time to come.

Haldir knew he would not that was for certain.

"There is a fine light between justice and revenge," Gimli replied after awhile, sympathizing with Haldir because his axe had been similarly stained in the first battle at Axinar, "I think what we have done can hardly be called justice."

Haldir did not disagree with him. Since Axinar, Gimli had only attacked in order to defend himself despite Legolas’ orders to the contrary. Too much did the actions of the elves resemble the butchery at Lebethron, and it was to Gimli’s everlasting shame that he had taken part in the bloodshed. He suspected that when Aragorn arrived at the rendezvous point where they were now awaiting him, the Gondorian king would be no less happy by the path of destruction they had left behind.

"I had hoped you could reason with him," Haldir looked at Gimli.

Gimli snorted derisively before responding, "he does not listen to any reason that would rob him of his revenge. Legolas made an oath to the Haradrim king that he would pay in blood for what was done to Melia and Eden Ardhon, I do not think that it was an idle threat. He means to destroy the Haradrim king for unleashing the Easterlings upon Melia and once he is done here, it would not surprise me if he turns his attention to Rhun."

"There are enough of us who will follow him," Haldir replied. "The audacity of defiling an elven colony has sparked a fury in my people not seen since Finwe's death."

"As I recall," Gimli looked at him, "that ended very badly for everyone involved. I am not letting that damned fool of an elf bring ruin to himself and everyone else, including the lady for whom all this is about. If she were here, she would be utterly horrified by what he has done."

"Then perhaps you should bring her the news," Haldir met his gaze.

"You mean return to Gondor and bring her  _here_?"  Gimli exclaimed in shock.

"If I could leave to do the deed myself I would," Haldir replied. "However, it cannot be me because I must stand with the prince as his lieutenant in this conflict. You are his friend but you are not bound by any oath to remain at his side."

"Aside from the oath of friendship," Gimli pointed out.

"You will be preserving that friendship if you were to bring Melia here," Haldir returned. "You know as well as I do that she is the only person that may reach him before he destroys himself to avenge her."

Gimli shifted uncomfortably, unconvinced that this was the best course but there was logic to what Haldir was saying. It was true, Melia would never stand for this. She had been unhappy as it was to learn Legolas had embarked upon the quest to acquire an army of elves to fight in the war. She had as much spoke it though Legolas was hardly capable of listening at the time.

"I must consider this further," Gimli spoke after a moment. His mind was not yet set to go but he was being drawn to Haldir’s proposal because of its sense. He loathed going to Melia and bring her such new, almost as much as he hated betraying his friend by this action but Haldir was right, if they did not do something, Legolas would destroy himself and possibly what good will that existed between elves and men. Aragorn and Eomer may have been angered by the actions of the Confederacy in their territories, but neither man was believer in vengeance and it had been Aragorn’s fervent wish from the beginning of his reign to unite the races of men.

"I cannot leave just yet," Gimli explained himself, "When Aragorn arrives, there will be a council of war and I must be present for that."

"For all the good that it will do," Haldir sighed. "I sense that the Elfstone will have little desire to discuss anything after he learns of what has happened at Axinar."

With that, Gimli could not disagree.

* * *

When Aragorn had voiced his suspicions, or rather fears, that the fate of Axinar might have befallen the other communities on the road to their rendezvous with the elven army, he had prayed that suspicions were all that would come of his worries. However, upon reaching the townships of Laxor, Brecat and Turazon, he came to the conclusion that the situation was indeed as terrible as he feared.. In each community, they were told the same terrible story about the invaders who attacked under the cover of dark, killing with impunity every male they came across during the night. Only the women and children were left to see the dawn and the wail of anguish that chased the passing army as they departed, burned into the hearts and minds of all who heard its sorrow.

Furthermore, the news of elven savagery had traveled far according to the Rangers who intercepted the army some days before their rendezvous with elven forces.

While Faramir and Imrahil followed him with without question because they were both princes by Gondor’s grace and were loyal to their king, Aragorn knew that Eomer and the Rohirrim seethed in disgust at the sight of the slaughter. Eomer had said little but Aragorn could sense that the horse lord was beginning to question his part in this campaign against the Haradrim. If something was not done soon to assure Eomer that their path of conquest was nothing more than an organized reason for murder, the King of the Mark would return to Rohan with his much needed cavalry. Unfortunately, Aragorn could offer him no assurance until he saw the Prince of Mirkwood for himself.

As it was, he was in no fit mind to talk to Legolas because Aragorn was furious and it was an anger that built over the course of their journey. A part of him was unable to believe that Legolas had been responsible for the bloodshed he had seen. Legolas, who had been his friend for the past sixty years, who had been at his side as a member of Fellowship and had battled more evils with him than any other person alive. Legolas had always been the paragon of elven dignity, the calm voice whenever all others about him were steeped in panic. If there was one thing Aragorn could rely upon, it was Legolas’ ability to offer his sound counsel when his own blood was boiling with the unrestrained heat of human temperament.

How on earth had it come to this?

Aragorn supposed that if it had been Arwen, he would behave no differently. The very thought of someone defiling her as Melia had been defiled hollowed his stomach and made his hands clench into fists. However, he did not have the luxury to examine his own hypocrisy, not when so many were dying around him. The journey to the rendezvous was sullen among his companions and when the elven camp came in sight, Aragorn was forced to call for calm since Eomer’s first instincts were to confront the elf and shake a satisfactory answer out of him. Fortunately, the king of the Mark was more accessible to reason than Legolas was at this time.

The elves had chosen to camp on the tributary of what was Haradwraith’s main waterway, the Sanara. Like the Anduin, though lesser in scale, the Sanara provided irrigation and water for many hundreds of villages scattered throughout the region. After making the crossing through the harsher terrain of the country, the respite by the river was more than welcome, though the mood within both camps was sombre. The elves were still festering their anger at Eden Ardhon close to their heart, along with some other burdens of which they did not speak, while the human army were trying to come to grips with the realisation that their allies in this conflict might have gone mad.

Aragorn bid the others to refresh themselves while he went to see Legolas first. Eomer’s blood was too hot to risk a meeting straight away and as Aragorn was directed to Legolas’ tent in the elven camp, he wondered if he was in any better state of mind. He strode across the encampment, barely aware of the greetings that were offered him as he passed, though he did manage a cursory acknowledgement, trying to calm himself before he faced his friend. The images of Axinar and all those smaller villages were appearing before his eyes in quick flashes, taunting him with the grim memories of their doom.

Legolas occupied the largest tent in the elven camp, notably because it would also serve as the venue for his conferences with his lieutenants. As he approached the open flap, he could hear the voices within. His entry into its confines was permitted by the elves on guard, who knew who he was and stood aside without offering any challenge. Aragon stepped inside and saw Nunaur, Haldir and Gimli gathered around a table with Legolas at the head of it. There were maps splayed across the surface though none of the elves were staring at it. With their senses, they would have known he was approaching even before he reached the guard.

"Well you’re a sight for sore eyes!" Gimli said boisterously as he approached the human and hugged him warmly. Aragorn was grateful to see the dwarf in one piece but wondered if Gimli had done anything to talk Legolas out of his murderous course. No sooner than the thought left his head, Aragorn knew that Gimli would have most likely tried but Legolas was no longer listening to anyone.

"It is good to see you Master Dwarf," Aragorn smiled faintly and met Gimli’s gaze. In doing so, he saw that Gimli’s relief was more than just because they had not seen each other for a time. In that one instant of contact, Aragorn could tell that Gimli was just as unhappy at what was happening as he was.

"Aragorn," Legolas started to say with a smile when Aragorn cut him off.

"Gentlemen," Aragorn said coolly, "I would like a moment with the Prince."

Nunaur and Haldir exchanged anxious glances while Legolas’ smile faded from his face. The elf and the human met

each other’s eyes and as the others quickly vacated the tent to give the king of Gondor his private audience. Even Gimli left without saying a word.

  
The moment they were alone, Aragorn who had been ordering himself to maintain his calm, that shouting, screaming and violence would avail him nothing, lashed out with his fist and sent the elf sprawling backwards. Legolas stumbled against the table, almost toppling it with the weight of the impact. He had little time to recover when he felt Aragorn’s hands on his tunic, pulling him to meet Aragorn's gaze.

"I take it you are displeased with my progress," Legolas said dispassionately as he glared at Aragorn.

Nunaur and Haldir had made a hasty return to the tent upon hearing the commotion. As Legolas wiped a smear of blood from his lips, he looked past Aragorn’s shoulder at the two elves and bid them to leave. Aragorn cursed himself for his temper and used the pause to calm down once more. This was not how he had anticipated their reunion to transpire but then Aragorn had expected a great deal from Legolas that had not come to pass.

"You murdered innocent people," Aragorn accused once they were alone again. "I saw what you did at Axinar and all those others places. You murdered every man in the village!"

"I did," Legolas returned sharply. "From what I have been able to discern, the battle of the Eastern Eye drained the Haradrim ranks. Their army, what is left of it, is in tatters. The Easterlings, out of fear that we would be turning our eye to Rhun, parted company after their failure at Ithilien and returned home to fortify their defences. In order to counter us, the

Haradrim will have to conscript to fill their ranks. What I did was merely a pre-emptive strike."

"A pre-emptive strike?" Aragorn stared at him, unable to believe that this was the excuse that Legolas was using to justify his actions. He had fought in many wars during his time but even Aragorn was stunned by the callousness of the elf’s reasoning. "Are you telling me that you murdered those men to keep them from fighting for the Haradrim in the future?"

"It would seem the sensible course," Legolas said dispassionately.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Aragorn hissed. "Do you think I do not know what this is? You are not so cold or ruthless without reason and your reason has nothing to do with this war!"

Legolas' eyes became hard as flint and he returned with as much venom, "my reasons are none of your concern. My participation in this war  _is_. We have done what we have set out to do; we have ensured that your way here was clear of threat. Beyond that, you have little reason to complain."

"Complain?" Aragorn stared at him as if it were a stranger before him, not his best friend.

"Legolas, listen to yourself. You are not a murderer. In your heart, I know you do not mean this bloodshed you have caused. You are angry and rightly so. If it were Arwen, I cannot say I would behave any differently but this is not the way to win. To take it out on innocents makes us no better than the animals who harmed Melia."

"I did not rape anyone!" Legolas exploded. "Have you forgotten what they did at Lebethron? Have you forgotten all those people who were butchered, men, women and children! They were strung up like meat and not before their women were raped, everyone of them? They spared no one not even children! How dare you compare me to them? I killed men because they will become our enemies. Sauron has poisoned these people! All they know how to do is kill in his name. What I did was ensure that the old ways that they had been taught, die with them. The new generation will be spared his malice."

"No," Aragorn shook his head; "all you have done is ensure that the next generation will see us as nothing more than the butchers who murdered their fathers."

"Perhaps, that may teach them some fear," Legolas returned, "Perhaps they will understand that there are consequences to invading someone’s homeland, that one cannot murder and rape without impunity."

"I think you have taught them that lesson most prolifically," Aragorn declared, "but it stops now."

"Stops?" Legolas stared at him. "Are you presuming to command me Aragorn? I believe my father and Celeborn gave  _me_  command of the elven army."

"Unless you wish to fight this war on your own," Aragorn said coldly, unable to believe that he was using this tone with his friend, a member of the Fellowship, no less. How in Elbereth’s name had it come to this? Aragorn asked himself for the second time this day. "You  _will_  hold back because if I see another village rorted as Axinar and the others were, I swear to you that Gondor will withdraw. As it is, it took some convincing to keep the Rohirrim from leaving after what Eomer witnessed in Axinar."

"We can fight this war on our own," Legolas declared but Aragorn sensed a little crack in his seemingly impenetrable façade. "We were alone before your people awoke at Hildorien, we will manage just as well without you."

"You think so?" Aragorn returned. "Fortunately, my Rangers are better informed than you. The news of what you did at Laxor, Brecat and Turazon has spread across the entire eastern lands. They know of the massacre as far as the Inland Sea. The Easterlings fear that once the elves are done in Haradwraith, you will march to Rhun and commit the same slaughter. So they no longer think it is in their best interests to protect their borders, they are amassing to join the Haradrim to fight you here before it reaches their territory. There is also talk that the Variags are sending an army five thousand strong from Khand, so as much as you think you do not need us, it is my duty to tell you otherwise."

There was a long pause and Aragorn saw that Legolas was seeing the wisdom of his words and was forced to concede the point but the edge of his hatred was still sharp and unabated. As much as Aragorn loathed admitting it, Legolas would obey because he had to, not because it was the right thing to do.

"It appears that I have little choice but to agree," Legolas said stiffly.

"You have more choices than you know," Aragorn declared. "Legolas, I am not your enemy, I am your friend and we have been together through more things than it is possible to name. I grieve with you for what was done to Melia, it tears at my heart because she, like you, is part of my family. I want to make those who harmed her pay just as much as you but not like this, not at the costs of innocent who did nothing this brutality."

" _She_  did nothing to warrant this brutality!" He shouted. "And you have no right to say anything because you do not know how I feel! You did not place Melia in the path of danger! I did that and I was not even there to when they defiled her!"

"Legolas…" Aragorn stared to say because he could see the open wound in the elf’s heart, the terrible anguish he felt because he considered himself culpable for all that had transpired not merely to his wife but to his people.

"I do not need your pity," he snapped. "I will do as you ask. I will tell my army to exercise restraint but hear me in this. I will not tolerate any compromise when it comes to this war. The Haradrim will fall. I made oath to burn his city around his ears and I do not intend to break it."

* * *

Aragorn left the tent shaken.

Not even when he had seen Gandalf and Boromir die had he been so unnerved by any one event. If he were any less of a man than he was, he would have wept in the wake of his exchange with Legolas. It was as if when the Easterlings had raped Melia, they had succeeded in killing his best friend too. Aragorn wished there was a remedy to heal the wound inside Legolas because words were doing little to move the elf.

"I take it, it did not go well," Gimli remarked, stepping out of the shadows when Aragorn emerged from the tent.

"Not at all," Aragorn said meeting his gaze, knowing that in Gimli, was the one person who could understand his pain regarding Legolas because Gimli was the third part of their trinity. "I do not know to reach him. He cannot see anything beyond vengeance."

"I tried to reason with him," Gimli said softly, "but he is beyond listening. He is beyond everything I fear."

"Do not blame yourself," Aragorn placed a comforting arm on the dwarf’s shoulder. "I do not think Galadriel herself could talk any sense into him at this moment."

"Perhaps not Galadriel," Gimli replied and raised his eyes to Aragorn, "but certainly it is a lady he needs to hear."

It took but a fraction of a second for Aragorn to grasp his meaning before the king was opening his mouth to speak.

"I will ride out in the morning," Gimli answered before Aragorn could say the words.

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, "bring her here and if she is unable to talk any sense into him then I do not know what other course there is left to us."

"Other than to let him kill them all?" Gimli looked at him.

"I will not allow that," Aragorn said firmly and prayed that he was as good as his word.


	3. Councils of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note:
> 
> I realise I have been taking a good deal of liberty with regards to the geographical aspects of the Easterlings, the Sunlands and in particular the Haradrim. In order for you to have a better idea of where everything is (in my twisted imagination), I've manipulated one of the Middle Earth maps on site to produce this crude representation. Please take this as my own interpretation of the Haradrim and Sunlands and not to be mistaken for canonical information.

 

 

Councils of war were by their very nature, sombre affairs.

For those who did not relish the notion of war, a gathering where one had to discuss with others, the best method of annihilating another race, was generally tolerated with begrudging reluctance. A Council of war was often the private crucible in which the public posturing, exaggeration and threats made between enemies prior to a conflict was whittled away in favour of the truth. In the war room, the false fronts put in place for the benefit of the enemy was dismantled for a true assessment of capability and resources. It was a serious business indeed that had changed little in its methodology during throughout ages of warfare.

Following the War of the Ring, the leaders of the Ruling Council of Middle earth had prayed they would never again find themselves assembled in this fashion. However, as they had come to learn on numerous occasions since then, hope and reality seldom bore any resemblance to each other. And existed on two differing planes. Yet even as they sat down to the weighted issue at hand, they were burdened by more than just the issue of war but rather the seething tensions that had arisen in the wake of the massacres at Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon. It preyed heavily upon the minds of all present as they sat before each other.

Aragorn had not spoken to Legolas after their previous exchange but had returned to some measure of calm when they sat down to discuss their plans for the conduct of the war. Present were Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Eomer of Rohan, Faramir of Ithilien, Gimli of Aglarond, himself representing Gondor, while Legolas Greenleaf represented the elven armies of Eryn Lasgalen and East Lorien with Haldir as his second in command. Only Pallando the Istar remained unaligned though this was not entirely a disadvantage because Aragorn found that wizards often saw things a good deal clearer than either men or elves.

  
The tension within the tent was so thick that for a while no one spoke. Legolas’ gaze met no one’s and Aragorn was certain he knew that all eyes were upon him. The air was pregnant with the anticipation of an outburst and glancing at Eomer, Aragorn knew that if explanations were demanded of the elf, it would most likely come from the King of the Mark. Rohan had bore witness to the onslaught of Uruk-Hai during the War of the Ring and the massacre they had seen during their journey to this rendezvous point was too reminiscent of those attacks for Eomer to tolerate with silence. Even though he had been slow to believe that the elves were responsible for what they had seen, his acceptance had come with intense anger and moral outrage.

Fortunately, Faramir and Imrahil who were no strangers to diplomacy, with the former being the Denethor’s younger son and accustomed to all aspects of politics and the later being prince of his own realm, were able to hold their emotions in check. Eomer was a warrior and had a warrior’s sensibilities even though he was now king. Gimli’s emotions were hidden beneath his crusty exterior and only Legolas and Aragorn had any idea how much what had transpired had affected. Aragorn had no doubted he was just as furious as Eomer but he would say nothing because his eyes reflected guilt at his participation at Axinar.

Elves were difficult to read and Aragorn, who knew Legolas longer than anyone else, was usually able to see past the façade of aloofness the prince kept over his emotions. Elves were built that way, even Arwen to a certain degree, kept their emotions restrained behind their beautiful masks. If he did not love her so, he would not be able to see the shift of colour in her sapphire eyes that indicated her mood had altered and so it was with Legolas. He could wear a mask of stone and Aragorn could still tell what he was about by his eyes. Aragorn looked into Legolas’ eyes now and saw nothing but darkness and knew that it was an apt description of where the elf was at this moment.

Haldir’s however, did not seem so impregnable and Aragorn sensed that he disliked what was happening but was too conditioned to duty to speak it out loud. He was the faithful servant of Lord Celeborn for as long as the Third Age, the elf knew how to keep his own counsel no matter how much he may dislike the way events unfolded around him. Celeborn gave him to Legolas as a lieutenant of the combined elven army and Aragorn had no doubt that he would serve the Prince of the Woodland Realm with the same devotion.

"We should begin," Aragorn finally broke the silence, deciding that it was best to get on with the business at hand before this continued silence caused someone to speak out of turn. "Legolas, what news do you have about the lands beyond this region?"

Legolas shifted in his chair, needing no elven insight to sense the resentment in the room . He decided promptly that he did not care because it was not their wife who had been violated and until such a tragedy befell them, they had no right to sit in judgment of his action. He was grateful Aragorn was making no statement regarding the attacks upon the villages because he could see Eomer itching for an explanation and Legolas was hardly in the mood to provide him with one when it ought to have been clear enough; the Haradrim, like the Easterlings, were the enemy.

"This land is mostly desert," Legolas opened, "there are sufficient watering holes scattered throughout the desert but these cannot be called rivers in any manner in which we are accustomed. I believe that there are large reserves of water beneath the ground that sustains these pools and it is the source that gives life to the communities in the desert. Our scouts eastward have seen a number of these villages."

Haldir promptly spread open a large map across the table that revealed the lay of the Haradwraith and the points on the parchment where these villages were to be found before Legolas continued speaking once more.

"From what we have discerned from the folk of these parts, there is little in the way of cities for at least a hundred leagues. Upon crossing that distance, there is a border of mountains, through which there is a small pass that one must cross to reach their more fertile lands. Beyond the frame of mountains which they call the Wall lies the river called the Sanara."

"I know of it," Pallando offered, "while its size does not compare with the Anduin, it flows from Near Harad to Far Harad and connects the northern and southern realms. Along the Sanara is where you will find Haradwraith’s wealth. They call the lands along its banks the Sanara belt."

"If the land is so fertile, why are they starving?" Imrahil inquired preferring to ignore the tensions of the room and offer pertinent discussion.

"The fertile lands expand no more than a day’s journey on foot from the banks of the Sanara. In that space, the land is well irrigated by the river, beyond that there is desert and what farming is done, has all but been exhausted to feed the rest of their people," Haldir explained, hoping that no one asked how they came about this information.

"This land has been in drought since Sauron’s end and since then, the tributes that the dark lord used to keep these people loyal to him have disappeared. All Sauron required of the Southrons and I suspect the Easterlings as well was to fight. He provided ample tributes in the form of food supplies to ensure that their industry would be focussed on the business of war. There are more weapon smiths in Haradwraith than there are farmers and therein lies their difficulty. They are starving because most of them have never had to feed themselves."

  
"So if we wish to subdue them, we must take the lands of the Sanara belt," Aragorn said contemplatively.

"Yes," Legolas replied stiffly, "the rest of Haradwraith is desert and inconsequential with little villages that cannot amass the strength to do little else but starve. However, the lands along the Sanara Belt can house thousands that will be able to plague us for years even if we wipe out every village in the rest of the country."

Aragorn saw Eomer's jaw clench involuntarily and feared that the King of the Mark might make an outburst regarding the massacres at Axinar but fortunately, Eomer displayed surprising restraint by remaining silent and letting his gaze fall away from Legolas. Aragorn sensed that if Eomer continued to meet Legolas' gaze, the urge to speak up regarding what had happened would become too much for the spirited Rohirrim king.

Eomer's response was not lost upon Legolas who in typical elvish perception noticed the rage beneath the man's eyes. However, Legolas ignored it even though something churned inside of him to know that he had earned the distrust of almost everyone present. He wished they could understand that what he was doing was for the best. The Easterlings and the Haradrim had proved, time and time again, that they were a race not to be trusted. Legolas was simply doing what the others could not by taking this harsh stance against them. It was not merely for the sake of vengeance or for Melia, but to ensure the protection of Middle earth from these barbarians. It pained him that not even Aragorn understood this.

"We must march for the Wall immediately," Aragorn announced deciding that it was best to propel them past the tension by keeping their focus on their reason for this gathering. He glanced at the map before him, paying particular attention to the range of mountains that lay between the army of Ruling Council and the Sanara belt.

"What is your plan?" Gimli asked because he recognized that familiar gleam in the Aragorn's eyes from their time together in the fellowship. It was not long after the quest had begun that Legolas; Boromir and he were able to discern when Aragorn's contemplative musings had evolved into something more tangible by reading the expression on his face. This moment was no different.

"This pass appears to be the only way through the Wall," Aragorn pointed out, his eyes still fixed upon the map. "If I were the Haradrim king, I would attempt to engage us here because it is a narrow passage and we will be at our most vulnerable position when we attempt to cross it."

"Yes," Faramir nodded immediately, understanding quickly what his king was alluding to. "If they are amassing troops to resist us, then those forces would be most effectively employed when we attempt to cross the pass."

"If we march quickly," Aragorn continued with his explanation, "we can make the pass before the Haradrim gain their support from the Variags and the Easterlings. I do not believe they would risk an attack otherwise."

"They call it the Splinter," Imrahil noted, grateful that his elvish lineage allowed him to read some of it.

"Yes," Pallando nodded recalling the folklore behind the name, "they call it that because they believe the wall was splintered to keep them faithful to Morgoth as well as eternally vigilant against their enemies."

"No doubt a piece of fiction propagated by Morgoth," Legolas snorted derisively, revealing his clear disdain for the Haradrim by his dismissive remark. "These people are tainted by their notion that all who fought against Sauron and his former master will eventually come for them. For them, our attack was an inevitability."

Once again, Aragorn saw Eomer wanting to speak out, but the Rohirrim lord exercised his restraint once more even though Aragorn could see he was doing so at great effort. It would not be long before Eomer's resolve splintered as finally as the crack in the Wall.

"I wish we knew a little more about this belt of which Legolas’ speaks," Imrahil remarked, using his statement as an excuse to diffuse the tension. Like Aragorn, he was aware of the seething resentment in the room and while he felt the same outrage as Eomer, in the business of war, one's personal feelings had to take second place to the good of the cause. And at this moment, though repugnant, Legolas' s' actions aided the cause.

"I do have a suggestion regarding that very matter," Pallando offered, easing back into his chair taking the opening that Imrahil had provided to bring to the table a new matter that needed prompt discussion.

"What sort of suggestion?" Aragorn looked at him, grateful that there was something else to focus their thoughts because he knew that the moment the meeting was done, Eomer was going to demand an explanation from Legolas regarding his behaviour. Unlike Faramir or Imrahil, Aragorn could not command Eomer to desist, nor would he try. Eomer was a king in his own right and had every right to question an ally on his conduct. However, Aragorn could stave off the inevitable by giving every bit of business they had to discuss its due.

"Despite the efforts of the Prince and your own Rangers, we still know very little about the lands of the Sanara belt. I myself journeyed once through these lands but that was almost three centuries ago and I did not linger long enough to garner anything that could be of use to you now. I think if we are contemplating the annexation of these territories, then we must have more than just passing information of the lands we are about to invade. We need accurate intelligence regarding their strength, the fortifications of their cities, their supply routes and the number of men at their disposal. Your Rangers are unable to penetrate the cities because they cannot assume the guise of the enemy, doubly so for the elves whose methods may be efficient in its brutality, are nonetheless incapable of providing the detail we need."

Legolas' mask remained stony but there was no one present who doubted Pallando's allegation as to how he had acquired his information and in their silence, there was little refute made on Pallando's statement in regard to their need for accurate intelligence. In truth, Pallando wished to bring about a swift conclusion to the war. If Haradwraith could be defeated quickly, with Aragorn being allowed to administer the annexed territories with benevolence, then the Haradrim may learn that their fears of subjugation were merely propaganda remaining from Sauron's dominion over them. It would allow them to yield and in doing so, provide Aragorn with the opportunity he needed to built a lasting peace with the minimum of lives lost. However, a long war would only give the elves the excuse they needed for wholesale slaughter and might erode the good intentions of Gondor and Rohan as well.

"What do you propose?" Aragorn asked, and Pallando saw that he had the Council's undivided attention.

"I propose to journey to the Sanara belt in order to discern their capital city so I can discern their strength and their plans of attack. It will also be to chart the area for any useful information we might need during our advance."

A slight exclamation of shock and surprise moved through the group following Pallando's statement. Even Legolas appeared shock by the enormity of what he had suggested, not to mention the danger involved.

"Alone?" Aragorn asked, once he had managed to overcome his astonishment.

"That is exceedingly dangerous, Master Pallando," Eomer looked at the wizard with equal concern. "Granted you may appear as one of them but your fame as a wizard of Gandalf’s ilk is well known."

"I think that a wizard is more than capable of protecting himself," Haldir pointed out, rather surprised by these humans who believed that Pallando was not entirely capable of protecting himself against the Haradrim. If anyone had reason to fear, it was the enemy should they try to overcome the Istar.

"Spies are no good to anyone if they are discovered," Eomer returned acerbically, having little patience with anyone elvish at the moment, "even those who are capable of protecting themselves."

"He is correct," Legolas surprised everyone by agreeing with Eomer when he turned to the wizard and added gently, "they would recognise you Pallando and that would render your efforts to learn anything useful, worthless."

Despite his darkened state of mind, Legolas still counted Pallando as someone he cared about deeply. If it were not for Pallando, he and Melia would be dead at the hands of goblins in the far edge of the world. Thanks to the wizard who had delivered them from that certain death, Legolas and Melia had been give the chance of a life together. No matter how disconnected he might feel from everyone at this moment, Legolas could not forget that, nor would he willingly stand by and left the Istar place himself in danger.

"A little glamour is all that I need to remain hidden," Pallando assured him, grateful for the emotion behind the Prince's words, and even more so because it proved to the Istar that vengeance was not all that Legolas was about. There was still a part of him that lingered in the light, a part that was still salvageable.

Aragorn did not speak in protest or support for the idea because he was too busy thinking about the possibilities of Pallando's covert foray into enemy territory. More than any other person present, Aragorn knew the value of accurate information. For the better part of sixty years, he had been a Ranger who had wandered the wilds gathering news of Sauron’s evils and the fulfillment of the prophecy regarding Isildur’s Bane. So much of his success in becoming king was due to the friendships and the knowledge he had garnered in those decades of secret observation, where he walked among the people who would either become his allies or his enemies in the coming battle with Sauron. He knew the value of moving covertly in the shadows and listening closely. Pallando’s plan had a good deal of merit and if anyone could manage to hide among the Haradrim, it was Pallando.

"But this is madness," Gimli declared, ever the skeptic. "You cannot simply go there alone. What if they were to discover you despite the magic? I do not recall magic making Gandalf invincible."

"I will go with you," Faramir stated suddenly.

Aragorn was protesting even before he had registered the words leaving his mouth.

"Absolutely not," Aragorn declared almost aghast by the possibility. "You would be even more conspicuous than he!"

"If he can conceal himself then he can conceal me as well," Faramir replied promptly, "besides, this sun has suitably bronzed my skin and if I were to darken my hair and remained beneath the cover of a cloak, there is no reason why I would call attention to myself at his side." Since the wizard had brought forward the possibility of travelling to the Sanara belt, Faramir's mind was already formulating the notion of accompanying him on this journey.

"Do not forget," he stared at Aragorn, "that like you I was a Ranger as well."

"You  _were_  a Ranger," Aragorn reminded him sternly with emphasis on the past tense, "you are now a Prince of Ithilien and my Steward. I need you here. Even if I did not, your capture would compromise us our position in more ways then you know."

Aragorn knew that he was protesting so vehemently because he did not like the idea of Faramir entering enemy territory under any circumstances. Not only was Faramir a trusted friend but he was also Boromir's brother and after failing the man of Gondor at Parth Galen, Aragorn had an ingrained need to protect the remaining son of Denethor despite himself. Besides, he did not want Faramir placing himself in harm's way unnecessarily now that Eowyn was with child.

Faramir met his gaze and guessed immediately what was at the heart of Aragorn's resistance because this was not the first time he had encountered it. He knew that his king would always feel responsible for failing his brother and coped with that perceived failure by ensuring that no harm came to him. While Faramir appreciated the Aragorn's efforts because it felt as if he still had a protective older brother looking over his shoulder, Faramir would not shirk his duty to his king or to cause for which they were assembled here in this foreign land.

"You know that will not happen," Faramir said firmly and with enough resolution in his voice to give even Aragorn pause. "I spent years in Ithilien, watching Mordor and gauging its strength. I did so without incurring Sauron's wrath and staying well out of sight of his orcs because I knew how to remain hidden. We need accurate intelligence if we are to proceed, not merely in casual observance but also from a military standpoint. This skill I have, this skill we  _need_."

"As much as it despises me to admit it," Imrahil spoke up after Faramir's passionate speech, "I must agree with Prince Faramir. I am in no hurry to see my kinsmen place himself in danger but Faramir has served Gondor well in this capacity before and if we are to make for the Wall, then we must have accurate information. I mean no disrespect to you Master Pallando but you are a not a military man where else Faramir has been little else in his life."

"I cannot dispute that," Pallando replied, forced to concede that point.

"This glamour," Eomer turned to Pallando, "will it be able to protect you both?"

"It will," Pallando replied, uncertain whether or not he wanted a travelling companion but deciding the choice was out of his hands since Faramir appeared very determined indeed and despite himself, there was a certain logic to his presence. Still, if he was forced to take a companion, he could do no worse than the Prince of Ithilien who was known for being something of a scholar as well as a warrior. It was a rare combination and might prove useful.

"Do you know what the Haradrim would do to you if they found you out?" Legolas asked quietly. He was just as anxious about the Prince's safety as Aragorn. Since becoming lord of Eden Ardhon, their friendship had been further strengthened by their dealings as the respective masters of north and south Ithilien and though the importance of the mission could not be denied, he had no wish to see Faramir harmed either.

"I do," Faramir nodded. "With all due respect to Pallando, he has not commanded men to fight, I have; and in having that dubious distinction, I know what to seek out when gathering our information. Aragorn," he glanced at the king, "if we find allies, there must be someone in suitable authority to be able to negotiate with them in your stead and I believe that as your Steward, that duty falls to me."

Faramir's argument could not be refuted even though Aragorn wish he could. The Prince of Ithilien was correct on all accounts and Aragorn knew that his personal feelings on the matter were the main reason for his objection. With a sigh, he knew he had to concede the point in this instance because a king had to rule with his head and not with his heart. Aragorn could send other men to accomplish the deed with Pallando but he knew inwardly that none would be as effective as the Prince of Ithilien.

"If you are determined to go, then I can see no reason why you should not," Aragorn said quietly, "but I expect you to take every precaution. I have no desire to return home to your wife and tell her that I have lost you in enemy territory."

  
"If it were to come to that, I rather it you than I " Faramir joked, attempting to bring some brevity into the taut atmosphere. Unfortunately, it was an effort that failed to put anyone at ease. What he and Pallando would be embarking upon was dangerous and no amount of levity could change it or assuage their fears for him.

"When will you leave?" Gimli asked.

"There are some preparations to make but I should like to go within the next two days," Pallando replied glancing at Faramir, "would that suit you Prince?"

"It would suit me," Faramir nodded.

"Then it is settled," Aragorn said sombrely, wishing that thing were anything but that.

* * *

The humans had been quick to depart from Legolas' tent in the wake of their discussion, and the reunion Legolas Greenleaf had hoped to enjoy with his friends when their respective armies joined each other, had been dashed the moment Aragorn had struck him. It was clear by the tensions during the council of war that the others were no happier with him then Aragorn. Obviously, they could not understand what he was enduring so he was not quick to blame them for their actions. However, as intractable as he was regarding his conduct of the war, Legolas did not wish to lose his friendships with Eomer, Faramir and Imrahil or in particular, Aragorn.

Aragorn wanted nothing more than to return to his own tent in order to rest as well as recover from the ordeal that had been their first Council of War in enemy territory. He noted with relief that Eomer and Imrahil were returning to the Rohirrim encampment as well. Aragorn could not deny fearing that Eomer may confront Legolas over his actions in the villages they had seen prior to their arrival here. Aragorn doubted that Eomer would find Legolas’ behaviour satisfactory considering how unrepentant the elf had been about the whole affair during their earlier encounter. The king of the Mark had been remarkably restrained during their council meeting but Aragorn suspected Eomer would not be able to keep his temper if he saw just how unmoved Legolas was about what he had done. Aragorn could not blame the Rohirrim king for his anger, not when the same images of destruction were burned into own memory as prolifically as they were burnt into Eomer's.

"Aragorn," Legolas called to the king when he emerged from his tent and saw Aragorn heading towards the Gondorian encampment.

At the sound of his name, Aragorn halted in his steps beneath the night sky and looked over his shoulder to see Legolas waiting at the entrance to his tent. The elf did not seem as haughtily confident as before and there was a tinge of something in his eyes that gave Aragorn reason to believe that perhaps Legolas was willing to talk. He was not so optimistic as to believe that Legolas had changed his mind about his behaviour at Axinar, but there was a conciliatory expression on the elf’s face that was reason enough to hear him out. However, Aragorn quashed the flaring hope inside of him that Legolas’ descent into darkness was not as complete as he thought. Until he had proof otherwise, Aragorn was skeptical of anything Legolas had to say, not after what he saw at Axinar.

"Prince," Aragorn said formally, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Legolas drew a deep breath and met his friend's gaze, unable to ignore the aloofness in Aragorn’s voice. It hurt him more than he could possibly believe to see the coldness in Aragorn's eyes and know that he had earned the disdain his friend felt for him at this time. From Aragorn’s point of view, Legolas supposed that he did deserve the man’s distrust and suspicion. Unfortunately, Legolas could not oblige Aragorn in his wishes. After all, the king could not begin to fathom what he was feeling and therefore could feel no empathy in his actions.

"Aragorn, I do not wish to fight with you," Legolas said sincerely as they stood before each other like two cliffs separated by an ever-widening chasm.

"I do not relish it either," Aragorn returned with just as much emotion and wished the iciness in his heart was not as cutting as the cold chill of the desert air lashing against his cheeks. He hugged his cloak closer to his body and wondered abstractly, how one could be cold in a desert before realising that the chill was more than just upon his skin.

"It is not I who has placed this wall between us old friend," Aragorn continued as he stared Legolas in the eye, "it is you."

Legolas dropped his gaze towards the ground, unable to maintain contact with Aragorn because he had no wish for the man to know the demons plaguing his innermost thoughts. Aragorn knew far too much about him already.

"I know," he conceded the point and saw Aragorn's surprise at his admission. "Do you think me so far gone that I cannot admit my mistakes?" He asked quietly.

"I do not know," Aragorn replied, "you stand before me bearing the guise of my best friend and yet your actions are that of a stranger. I no longer take anything for granted where you are concerned."

"I did what was necessary," Legolas answered, making no effort to explain himself because it was a path taken already and the place it had led them to would be no different if they argued again. "They are a dangerous people. They always have been. You only see what I did at Axinar; you do not remember their treachery. They have not changed since Ulfrang the Black betrayed us at Nirnaeth Arnoediad. It was ill done when Morgoth reached these people first because he has tainted their thoughts against the First Born and all who serve the light. What I did may seem harsh but when all things are accounted for, it is only a splinter in comparison to what they have wrought upon us."

Aragorn could see that Legolas was making an effort to explain himself but his argument was flawed because it was weighted with guilt and responsibility over what had transpired at Eden Ardhon and to Melia. He wished he could absolve Legolas the way the elf needed him to; but Aragorn could not, because Legolas did not understand that what he was doing was unacceptable, even in war.

"That does not make it right Legolas," Aragorn declared emotionally, "we cannot fight the enemy by sacrificing ourselves, it is the same as letting them win. In any case, we often think that the enemy is evil because it makes it easier to fight them; but in truth, most of the time they are simply like us, divided by circumstances. If Morgoth had reached the men of Hildorien first, who is to say that we would have turned out differently? Sauron was able to sway the men of Numenor with words alone. He sent them to war against the Valar. The Easterlings, the Haradrim and all the races that live east of Mordor have been conditioned to obey Sauron and to despise us, they have never been afforded to chance to learn better. We cannot teach them otherwise by brute force or slaughter."

"You cannot teach them anything until you have conquered them," Legolas pointed out, feeling his heart sink because he knew that no amount of explanation would sway Aragorn into seeing his point of view. "They will not be conquered by compassion Aragorn, they will only use it to their advantage."

"I know you believe you had good reason," Aragorn replied, drawing the same conclusion about Legolas regarding his friend’s staunch beliefs. "But your reason comes from your pain, pain you have not yet addressed. I see the hurt inside you even though you wear a mask of stone. Your agony screams out to anyone who knows you and with every drop of blood you spill."

"You know nothing of what you speak!" Legolas snapped, feeling Aragorn's words piercing his skin like sharp blades. "I thought if I tried to explain, you would understand. I do not want our friendship to end because of this."

"Do you think I want that?" Aragorn lashed back with equal vehemence, not about to let Legolas retreat now that they were getting to the heart of the matter. Legolas needed to talk about it no matter how unpalatable it was to his sense. The anger was eating him inside and until he released it, Legolas would be slave to it.

"You are more than simply my friend," Aragorn beseeched him, "you are like my brother and when I see you in this manner, it tears me apart because I know what you have done is not borne out of malice or hatred but pain, pure and unadulterated pain. Legolas, it was not your fault!"

"I am the one who made the choice!" Legolas shouted and stormed towards the tent opening again.

"You made a choice for friendship," Aragorn returned, following him. "You wanted to help us at Lossarnach. There is no shame in that. I am sure Melia understands that!"

"Melia understands," Legolas said bitterly as he turned to face the king and upon doing so, allowed Aragorn to see the terrible sadness in his eyes. "She understands and she does not blame me. How can she blame me when all she can think of is the child she was unable to save? The Easterling bastard snapped the girl's neck in front of her! Snapped her neck and then raped my Melia while she was weeping her failure! Melia doesn't hate them Aragorn; she hates  _herself_  for being unable to stop them! It doesn't matter that she more than paid the price for that failure by what they did to her, all she can think of is failing Anna. How can I do anything but hang my head in shame when my wife hates herself for living?  _That_  is what I have done to her."

  
And with that, he disappeared into his tent, leaving Aragorn staring after him. The king of Gondor did not follow because frankly Aragorn would not know how to answer him.

  
Aragorn raised his eyes to the stars and lingered for a moment beneath Varda’s light before turning away from the tent. He resumed his journey towards the Gondorian camp because he did not know how to counter Legolas’ argument and wished more than anything that Gandalf was here. Gandalf would know the right words to say because Elbereth knew he did not. Gandalf had been mentor to all of them and he always seemed to know what to say when things were at their worst. Aragorn did not have that gift and he sensed that unless he found the right words, he would have to abandon Legolas to the path of darkness that the elf had chosen and pray that he would find a way out before it was too late.

* * *

Under the same sky, though further away than either Gondor or Haradwraith, the night air was not so cold because the wind sweeping across the land was a dry, dust carrying draught. It left patterns upon the sand dunes as it continued its airborne journey. The warrior known to his people as Kirin lowered the hood of his cloak over his brow to ensure that his eyes were shielded from the tiny grains of sand drifting through the air as he made his way through the quiet streets of his home. He knew he was not late but the others would have most likely arrived early to escape the light windstorm that was assailing him even as he neared the enormous sandstone building before him.

He was called Kirin by his father who had named him after the  _Kirinki_ , a species of bird that existed in the land of the Valar. When he was born, he had been such a frail and tiny infant that it was feared he would not survive to adulthood but his father was certain that he would prevail and make his mark to all who had doubted him. Thus he was named for the legendary birds that were known for their slight size but were able to sing with voices so high that men could not hear them.

It had been a long time since Kirin had to prove himself and as undisputed leader of his people, the origins of his name was remembered only as a curious sort of joke. In a matter of months, he would reach his twenty-eight year but he was already the veteran of a dozen wars and could not remember a time in his adult life when there was not a battle to wage somewhere. Kirin had come to the conclusion that he would die on his feet and in battle, a fate not wholly unacceptable to him because he was a warrior and a warrior’s end was what he deserved. However, he was not a man who relished war and he certainly did not wish the same for the generations who came after him. Thus when the news from Haradwraith reached him, he knew that he had to act.

Entering the Great Hall of Gathering, Kirin was soon surrounded by sandstone walls that curved upwards into a domed ceiling peaked by a circle of coloured glass that allowed them to see the stars above. The entire structure of the building consisted of its main hall that was floored with dark marble and was large enough to house hundreds. There were no chairs, only woven rugs across the hard floor surrounding a raised dais in the centre of the room where all could see a speaker when he took the stage to address the gathering. On the walls, hung the portraits of great leaders and thinkers, men who had shaped their culture whether or not in the guise of warriors or teachers.

On this occasion however, there were only forty men awaiting his arrival when Kirin made his way down the aisle leading to the dais. His presence brought to gradual silence the rumble of voices in the hall as all eyes shifted to him and awaited patiently as Kirin took his place before them. During his journey, he offered those he passed a nod of greeting and customary salutation. He knew most of the faces before him but there was some who were not known to him. This was hardly surprising because the quorum came together only twice a year unless of course there was a matter to be discussed that could not wait.

Like now.

Just as they were unknown to him, Kirin knew that to some, he was also a stranger. They only knew him by the chain of gold worn around his neck that held his sigil for all to see. It told those who did not know him who he was, even if they had never laid eyes upon him before. The sigil’s intricate design gave him the right to speak for them and the right to lead them. Upon reaching the dais, Kirin bowed slightly before taking sitting down and placing his sword before him.

As was with the custom of his people, the attendants to the meeting were already seated on the woven mats with their swords laid before them as a gesture of willingness to negotiate. Though they were representative of many tribes, they lived and warred under the same banner. Their number was the largest it had been in almost a decade and Kirin was pleased to see that all of them had travelled so far for this meeting. Now that they were finally assembled, he saw no reason to delay the discussion he had summoned them from far and wide to attend.

"My friends," Kirin began, requiring no need for introductions since that business was conducted during the welcoming feast a day before, "you know why we are here. We have a choice before us, a choice that will define the fate of our people."

He paused to let those words sink into the thoughts of the men gathered and saw in each of their eyes that the words had profound meaning since none were untouched by what Kirin spoke. Each man thought of the battles he had fought and thanks to their beliefs, there had been many indeed no matter what corner of their country they resided. They thought of friends and family who were absent from their lives because of the constant warfare that seemed almost endless and steeped in futility. It would have been easy to yield, to submit to the wishes of their enemies but surrender was not in their nature and for that, they had paid a high price.

"War has come to Haradwraith and soon to the lands of Easterlings," Kirin announced. "Many months ago, we received reports that King Dallanar, leading the Confederacy, planned to invade the western lands of Gondor and Rohan. I have just received a detailed report from one of my spies in Dallanar’s court that his incursion into that territory has come at a terrible price. Not only has Dallanar been pushed back into his own territories by his enemies, it appears that they have pursued him into Haradwraith. It is believed that the armies of Gondor and Rohan are presently on route to the Sanara belt and leading them are the First Born."

A roar of disbelief echoed through the gathering of warriors present and Kirin could not blame them for their astonishment. When he had first been told of the news, he too had received it with similar astonishment. To his people, the First Born was as revered as the Valar. Indeed, their forebears had served the sons of Feanor faithfully in the First Age but had little contact with them since the sinking of Beleriand when they travelled to this land to tame themselves a new land to call their own. It was believed that the elves no longer warred, that they left such brutality to men who were more than adept of spilling blood. To think that the First Born were leading an army of men to annihilate the Haradrim was more than a little difficult to accept.

Unfortunately, they had to accept it if they were ever going to know a lasting peace.

It took some minutes for Kirin to regain some semblance of order in the room so that he could continue speaking. There was more news to impart and not all of it had to do with the present of the First Born in the invasion of Haradwraith. What he had to tell them would shake them all to the core and there was really no delicate way to deliver the news.

  
"Why are the First Born involving themselves in a matter that is clearly for men alone?" Andros, one of the southern tribal leaders asked astutely. Andros was not a man prone to unfounded outbursts and it did not surprise Kirin that this question came from him. "I heard that they were all sailing to Aman to dwell with the gods."

Fortunately, Andros’ question silenced the remaining voices reacting to the news as everyone turned to Kirin for his answer. "It seems that the First Born have not departed this realm completely. I have heard that the king of the Woodland Realm remains, as does the Lord of the Golden Wood who is husband to the fair Lady Galadriel. While the Peredhill has sailed across the sea, his city remains and so does his kin. Even the Sindar elf Legolas Greenleaf has established a new colony in the woods of South Ithilien."

They were not so far away from the known world to be ignorant of the tales regarding the Fellowship who embarked upon the quest to destroy the Master Ring of Sauron. The deeds of Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf the Grey and the rest of the Nine Walkers were known to all his people. During the past three years, what was seen as an infamous crime by the former allies of Sauron, was celebrated by Kirin’s people as a legend of courage to be admired by all. There were children born to his people who had never seen an elf in their lives yet knew of the Fellowship and of Legolas Greenleaf.

"I find it hard to believe that they would involve themselves in the affairs of men even if such was the case. Gondor and Rohan has cause to attack because of the Confederacy invaded their lands but it was my understanding that Dallanar had no wish to involve the Eldar in this conflict," Andros added further.

"I share you skepticism," Kirin said directly to Andros and then continued to explain. "It was Dallanar’s intention to intimidate the First Born into remaining neutral in the conflict. However, his methods of intimidation left a great deal to be desired and he made a fatal miscalculation in his dealings with the elves."

Kirin thought of what his spy had told him and even now had difficulty believing the sheer audacity of Dallanar’s reasoning. How could he have been so presumptuous as to gamble the fate of his people on such a mistaken belief. As one who led himself, Kirin could not imagine taking such a risk with so many lives at stake. Unfortunately, Dallanar was about to learn the price of his presumption and unfortunately for him, his people may learn it with him.

"Erroneously believing that the race that fought the balrogs and Morgoth's dragons could be cowered by a Haradrim threat," Kirin continued speaking, "Dallanar directed the Easterlings to attack Eden Ardhon, the elven colony under the lordship of Lord Legolas. From what I’ve been able to discern, the city and the wood surrounding it was ravaged by flame and by the onslaught of mumakils. If that were the extent of it, I believe the First Born would have withdrawn and allowed Dallanar his victory but it appears there were further orders issued beyond the sacking of the city."

"What sort of orders?" Radil, another tribal chieftain inquired. Radil was oldest of the tribal leaders and it was only bloodline that kept him from occupying Kirin’s seat a leader among them. Nevertheless it was not a circumstance that made the older man resentful for he was a good friend and wise councillor.

"He ordered that the women were to be violated and to this end, the Easterlings who carried out the sacking were most efficient. What women they found were subjected to this disgrace, including the wife of Lord Legolas," Kirin announced grimly, his stomach hollowing in disgust because this effected him on a far more personal level than anyone present were aware at the moment.

Kirin could not volunteer any further information because the room exploded into a roar of outrage as men across the room expressed their disgust as such heinous actions. Among his people, to violate a woman was a crime that was akin to murder and deserving of the harshest penalties. Kirin shared their anger and tried to call for calm so that he could tell them what had resulted from Dallanar’s actions in Eden Ardhon.

"The First Born will destroy the Haradwraith!" Someone shouted and this cry was echoed throughout the chieftains.

"It would appear so," Kirin announced grimly. "The Eldar army leads the advance into Haradwraith and so far Axinar, Laxor, Bracat and Turazon have fallen to their onslaught with the massacre of every male capable of bearing arms. Only women and children have been left unharmed. Dallanar has pulled back what remains of the Haradrim forces to the Sanara belt in order to protect the cities but he cannot withstand the united assault of the First Born, Gondor and Rohan. The savagery of the elves has prompted the Easterlings into mobilizing. They fear that since they are the ones directly responsible for the assault on Eden Ardhon, the elves will turn their attention to Rhun once they have secured Haradwraith. The Variags of Khand are dispatching five thousand troops to help with the defense. They wish to halt the elven advance in Haradwraith before its spill into their border."

Kirin paused and let the words sink into the consciousness as the conflict in all its ugliness and scope was laid before them. They had a decision to make even though for Kirin his own mind was made up. Unfortunately, leading the tribes did not mean he was able to arbitrarily decide who they would fight. Such a decision required the consent of all the Tribes.

"There you have it my friends," he spoke after a moment. "This is the war that we have been waiting for all our lives, the one that will bring an end the constant need to defend our homes against the enemy. We have fought against the Easterlings and the Haradrim for centuries because we would not serve Sauron. For that, they have plagued us with all manner of peril and yet we have prevailed. If the Haradwraith and Rhun fall to the men of the west, we will at last know peace. The Gondorian and Rohirrim army will be joining the elven ranks, if they have not already and begin the push eastward. What we must decide is if we wish to aid them in this effort. If we can strike an alliance with the armies of the west, we can offer them the opportunity to force their enemy into a war on  _two_  fronts."

A murmur went through the crowd as everyone considered the possibility of choosing a side in this war and once again, Kirin saw Andros rise to his feet with a question upon his lips.

"Are we certain that the elves will trust us?" He asked. "If the First Born are massacring villagers in vengeance for the assault upon their colony, how certain are we that they will not see us as enemies? We are unknown to them."

And here it was, Kirin thought to himself, the last piece of the puzzle they did not have which he knew, the piece that had given him the idea to throw in their lot with the armies of the west. He hoped they saw the value of it as much as he did.

"There is a further piece of information that has come into my keeping," Kirin said neutrally. "It is regarding the wife of Legolas Greenleaf."

  
The mention of the lady silenced everyone because they were all puzzled as to what an elven lady had to do with the decision they were making.

"I have learnt that she is not of the First born but a mortal," Kirin announced and saw understandable shock on the faces before him.

"Do they marry mortals?" Radik asked with genuine curiosity.

"Apparently so," Kirin answered, "it is said that the wife of Legolas Greenleaf is not merely human but she comes from the Sunlands. My friends, I know that this may be impossible to believe and when I first heard, I could not begin to describe to you my astonishment but it is the truth nonetheless. The wife of the elven Lord Legolas is none other than Melia, daughter of Hezare."

In the wake of the news, there was none of the excitement earlier but rather muted shock. They all knew of Melia, the only daughter of Hezare their greatest general, who had fled more than thirteen years ago to parts unknown following the death of her father. It was assumed that the girl was dead, After all, women could not survive on their own for very long without a man. However, no one had expected this to be her fate.

"Yes," Kirin began speaking again, certain that they were listening to his every word. "There is no doubt, the wife of the elven lord is Hezare's daughter. They have been wed for little more than a year and she rules now as his side as the Lady of Eden Ardhon. In light of this intelligence, we have a valid reason for striking an alliance with the First Born that is beyond all reproach. Melia is the daughter of our greatest warrior. We who cherish the memory of Hezare cannot ignore the injury to her honor. Upon my personal honor am I bound to align myself and my house to the cause of Lord Legolas because custom dictates that I must pledge allegiance to the husband of my kinswoman. The Tribe of Bors will not sit by and allow one of its own to be disgraced."

The agreement to fight for Hezare's daughter roared throughout the room as filled the gathering hall with thunderous applause. Kirin could feel the walls shudder around him in the commotion and he hoped that wherever she was, Melia knew that she had a family who still considered her one of their own, even now.

Kirin had certainly never felt any differently, especially when it was he that helped her to escape.

* * *

It was not quite dawn when Aragorn appeared at the edge of the Gondorian camp and stared at the horizon, knowing that beyond the craggy terrain and parched desert landscape, his homeland awaited him. It had been so long since he had seen Arwen that he ached each time he thought of her touch and it instinctively drove his fingers to the Evenstar pendant that hung from his neck. Tracing the smooth texture of the jewel that was given to him by one who made all jewels pale in comparison, Aragorn felt closer to his wife even though she was leagues away. He missed her terribly and wondered how she coped with his absence because without her, there was a gaping emptiness in his heart.

The camp was silent because most of his men were still catching up on their sleep after the hard trek to reach this rendezvous point. Aragorn was alone as he swept his gaze across the collection of tents and bodies sprawled over bedrolls. The Rohirrim camp was nearer to the watering hole because of their horses, and Aragorn was grateful for that because it meant that the horses would be down wind from the rest of them. He had told no one of his early rising but it was a secret he would be unable to conceal indefinitely. Indeed the moment he cast eyes upon the other leaders of the Ruling Council, he would have to provide some explanation if it was not entirely the truth.

His attention shifted away from the camp at the short neighing of a horse or rather a small pony. Turning around, he saw Gimli preparing his mount for the journey across the desert, ensuring that all the necessary gear was attached to his saddle. The pony was ridiculously small in comparison to Aragorn's own horse, but then a dwarf riding was a rare enough occurrence without anyone expecting him to be astride a full size animal. The pony was from the mountains of Rohan and had been a gift from Legolas to the dwarf. Aragorn smiled remembering the occasion when Gimli had proved to Legolas that he was more than capable of riding the animal.

He longed for those days once again.

"Are you ready?" Aragorn asked approaching the dwarf.

"More or less," Gimli declared making sure the saddle was secured properly to the animal. "It's going to be a long ride but I think I can manage it."

"If you like, I can send one of my men with you," Aragorn offered, not liking the idea of Gimli becoming lost in all this vast open space now that the dwarf had mention some trepidation in the journey.

"I do not need a nursemaid," Gimli snorted gruffly, even though he was aware of the sentiment behind the suggestion. "If I can learn to ride this blasted nag, I can ride to Gondor."

The pony snorted suddenly as if it took offense at its master's description but was soon rewarded with a gentle stroke of its flaxen mane by Gimli. In truth, the dwarf really did love the animal even though it would require the inquisitors of Mordor to make him admit it openly. Aragorn watched his friend with the animal and felt a deep sense of pride at Gimli's courage in fighting the dwarf's natural aversion to riding in order to master the animal.

"I have no doubt of that," Aragorn replied warmly before meeting his gaze with a more serious tone to his voice. "You know what to say to her?"

"Yes," Gimli nodded having discussed this with the King of Gondor before this departure. "Tell Melia that the elf is in trouble."

"Knowing Melia, that will be enough to set her on the road here," Aragorn replied. "She has a Ranger's conviction."

"Not to mention stubbornness," Gimli retorted before adding further, "what if she wants to know what kind of trouble he is in?"

That was not so easy to answer, Aragorn decided as he lapsed into silence while he considered how to respond to Gimli's query. If Legolas was right and Melia was already burdened with the guilt of being unable to save the child murdered by the Easterlings, how on earth was she going to cope with the knowledge that her husband was rampaging through Haradwraith slaughtering innocents because of her? Though she was in no way responsible for Legolas' actions here, it could not be denied that the slaughter was committed out of her husband's need to avenge her violation.

Yet it was also wrong to deceive her if she wished to know the truth.

"Then you must tell her," Aragorn spoke finally because there was no other answer. She had a right to know even if he wished otherwise. Melia was a strong woman, far stronger than Legolas gave her credit, Aragorn was certain. One could not be a Ranger of the North for as long as she without possessing an iron clad resolve. He was certain that as painful as the truth might be for her to hear, Melia would be able to endure it.

"I was afraid of that," Gimli frowned. "She has been through a great deal already, must she be told?"

"It will be hard to conceal when you return to these lands. She is an Easterling of noble birth with enough education to be able to speak their languages and that of the Haradrim. She will hear the truth one way or another, it is best that it comes from us, not from strangers."

"I hope we are right about this," Gimli met his gaze and despite his crusty demeanor, Aragorn could see the extent of his worry for Legolas as well as Melia. "He will not be happy that we interfered."

"By the time he knows, Melia will be here and I do not think that Legolas is so lost to his hatred that her presence will not in some way give him pleasure," Aragorn confessed. "Hopefully enough to diffuse his outrage that we have gone behind his back to fetch his lady."

"Alright," Gimli sighed, "but if I am impaled by any elvish arrows, I will hold you entirely responsible."

Aragorn laughed as Gimli mounted the horse and was able to meet the king eye to eye for a change. "What will you tell him when he asks where I have gone?"

"I will tell him that you are on king's business," Aragorn returned.

"I do not think that will satisfy him," Gimli replied, "just do not let him think I abandoned him."

"He knows better than that," Aragorn answered.

"I used to think that but I am no longer as certain," Gimli said sadly. "I long for the friend with whom we chased Uruks across Rohan, I miss him."

"We will get him back," Aragorn reached for his arm and squeezed gently. "I am not ready to give up on Legolas just yet."

"Neither am I," the dwarf answered returning the gesture with as much affection. "Do you have any tidings for your lady?"

Aragorn thought of all the things that he wanted to say to Arwen and knew that neither message nor words spoken by another could convey the depths of his emotions whilst they were apart.

Aragorn met the dwarf's gaze and said simply, "tell her that I think of her."


	4. The Road to Sanara

If Aragorn had believed sending Gimli alone to Gondor had been difficult, it was nothing in comparison to the mission he was allowing Faramir to embark with Pallando.

Even as he watched the younger man and the wizard preparing to depart from the camp a mere two days after Gimli had left for his journey, Aragorn wondered if he had not taken leave of his senses by permitting Faramir to accompany Pallando into the heart of enemy territory. As king, he knew the decision he had made was sound. No one was better suited for the task of entering the Haradrim stronghold than Faramir. Aragorn was forced to agree with Imrahil that Denethor’s youngest son would be more than capable of assessing the strength of the enemy. However, the part of him that was Strider, disliked intensely the notion of sending Boromir’s brother and his friend into such a perilous situation.

With Gimli journeying across Haradwraith to Gondor, Eomer unbidden in his distaste for the manner in which the elves waged their wars and Legolas, so far beyond himself that to Aragorn he might as well have been a stranger, Aragorn had no wish to part company with another friend, be it a spiritual or a physical separation. However, as always, the desires of Strider had to be put aside for the needs of Elessar, king of the Reunified Kingdom. There were days when Aragorn wished his life were not complicated by the trappings of his lineage. At least, then he could do as his heart desired, not as his mind willed. Besides, were he to forbid Faramir from going, the Prince of Ithilien would never forgive him and rightly so. Like his brother, Faramir was a patriot and serving Gondor was more than just a duty but borne of a genuine love for the land of his birth.

Faramir did not look much like a Prince of Ithilien when Aragorn approached him. The Steward of Gondor was dressed in rather non-descript clothes that made him difficult to place. Aragorn knew the garb well. He still owned the clothes he had worn when he was Strider for the occasions when he needed to travel anonymously. Faramir’s clothes were in slightly better condition and the combination of dark fabric and hooded cloak seemed to suit the mission he was undertaking. As Aragorn looked upon him, he could very well believe that Faramir was just as capable of vanishing from sight, as Aragorn had been when he was still a Ranger.

"I brought you something," Aragorn announced, carrying in his hand the elven cloak provided to him when the Fellowship had paused through Lothlorien.

"A gift?" Faramir raised his brow as he noted the greyish cloak of elven design in his king’s arms.

"Not quite," Aragorn said with a little smile as he handed Faramir the garment. "Consider it a loan. It will help to conceal you when even a Ranger’s skill is not enough. This has accompanied me through some perilous times and it served me well. I hope it will do the same for you as well."

Faramir met his gaze, touched by the gesture and once again asked himself in silence what good fortune had brought the king to Gondor in the guise of this noble man. Knowing Aragorn had lessened the pain of losing Boromir and though the king could be overly protective at times, it was good to know that there would be someone to watch his back in battle.

"Thank you," Faramir said with more emotion then he would like to show. "I will return this to you when I have completed my mission."

"The mission is important," Aragorn agreed but added further, "however, do not risk your life unnecessarily because of it. Intelligence has never been worth the weight of a man’s life, not to me."

Faramir nodded in understanding and held his king’s gaze for a moment. Behind them, the sun was setting quickly into the horizon. Pallando and he had agreed that it would be best if they travelled by night and rested during the day. The travails of the weather was less likely to affect them and the cover of dark would ensure their secret advance into enemy territory be maintained for as long as possible. Faramir saw Eomer approaching in the distance, no doubt the Rohirrim king was coming to bid him farewell and Faramir knew that the opportunity to speak his mind on a particular matter would be lost when Eomerreached them.

"Aragorn," Faramir said quietly, "sometimes when a man is burdened by guilt and anger, he can lose his way. I do not think that the elves are any different. We have held them as the ideals of purity and enlightenment for so long that it is harder for  _us_  to accept their imperfections then it is for them to acknowledge them. What was done at Axinar is not to be taken lightly but we have reacted so strongly to it because the deed was committed by an elf. If were it a man who had directed the slaughter, we would be better able to cope because in our hearts, we know our race is capable of such darkness. It is because this deed was carried out by elves that we find it so difficult to bear. Men expect better of elves but we should remember that immortal or not, when they are cut, they bleed the same as we do."

Aragorn stared at Faramir, somewhat taken by the Steward’s impassioned statement and could not deny the truth of his words. This was so much harder to bear because Legolas was an elf. Aragorn had become accustomed to the elf’s serene manner these past sixty years and this side of Legolas not only shocked the king of Gondor but made him fearful as well. Legolas had always been the one person he could rely upon with unquestioning faith. However, Faramir was right, until Aragorn was able to empathize with Legolas’ pain, the elf would continue on his path to self-destruction

  
"You are far wiser than I," Aragorn found himself saying with admiration.

"Only through experience," Faramir said sadly, "my life is filled with the passing of loved ones who have lost their way."

Aragorn did not ask him to elaborate even though they both knew he was speaking of both Boromir and Denethor. Fortunately, the sombreness of the moment was broken by Eomer’s arrival. The king of the Mark approached them with Pallando and Imrahil at his side. The wizard was dressed in robes of sand coloured material and judging by the wide weave of the fabric would serve quite well in the desert heat. Aragorn swept his gaze over the area to see if any one else was coming to see Pallando and Faramir off on their journey and was disappointed when there was not. He knew that it was unlikely that Legolaswould appear when everyone was so uneasy around him but Aragorn had hoped secretly that he would nevertheless.

"I see he has given you his cloak," Eomer remarked, noticing the garment in Faramir’s hand.

"It is rather bedraggled," Imrahil commented unaware of its history.

"You can see why now I viewed him with such scepticism when he claimed to be the son of Arathorn during our first meeting on the road to Rohan," Eomer joked. ‘Isildur’s heir indeed."

"You should consider becoming a court jester," Aragorn returned sarcastically, "you are wasted in cavalry."

"The fabric is elven," Pallando declared, observing the cloak with far keener eyes than any other present. "I assume it is enchanted?"

"Not quite enchanted," Aragorn explained, "but it does allow the wearer a certain amount of stealth when the situation requires it."

"Anything that keeps your head attached your neck will be an improvement, nephew," Imrahil replied, looking at the young man with concern.

"I will endeavour to return your property and keep my head and my body in close proximity," Faramir replied with a smile before turning to Pallando, "we should begin our journey wizard, the night is almost upon us."

"Will you be able to find your way in this darkness?" Eomer inquired because unlike Rohan with its rugged mountains and familiar hills, he could not discern one sand dune from another.

"The stars do not change," Pallando answered before Faramir could. "We will keep our eyes upon the stars and allow Varda's light to guide us."

"Safe journey Faramir," Eomer said grabbing the steward's arm. "I will look to the east for your return."

"Ride well Eomer," Faramir returned the greeting with just as much heart felt emotion.

Imrahil gave Faramir, who was son to his only sister, an uncharacteristic embrace when similar sentiments were passed among the company to their departing comrades. Imrahil had been feeling of late that he should not have allowed Denethor's indifferent manner in the wake of Finduilas' death keep him away from his two nephews. Since Denethor's passing, it appeared to the Prince of Dol Amroth that they would have benefited from the association with a family whose affections were a little warmer than it must have been in Denethor's house. Strangely enough, it had not struck him until Lothiriel's arrival at Minas Tirith when she regarded her cousin like a stranger and drove home how much alone Boromir and Faramir must have felt in their youth, explaining somewhat the close bond between the brothers.

The sun had well and truly set in the horizon when Faramir and Pallando finally departed, with Aragorn staring after them as their horses crossed the landscape and disappeared into nothingness. Aragorn did not know how long he remained watching the two figures vanish into the dark and took note in passing when Eomer and Imrahil left to return to their camps. He wondered if he was mellowing with age because he worried greatly for Faramir.

If Pallando were to be harmed, the Istar's soul would return to Mandos. Death was not an inevitability for a Maia but Faramir passing would mean that once again, he had failed to save a son of Denethor. It was not just the oath he had made to Boromir at Parth Galen but also because Faramir was his friend and had behaved with amazing grace in the aftermath of his return to Gondor. In truth, the Steward could have fought him for his kingship but Faramir never did. He saw Aragorn as his king from the first and gave up his claim because it was the right thing to do. Such nobility was rare and Aragorn did not wish to see it wasted by an unnecessary death.

"I have learnt that if you worry too much about the fragility of mortal existence, you will only twist yourself into knots," a familiar voice said next to him.

Aragorn did not turn because there was only one person who could advance upon him without Aragorn having the slightest inkling.

"I did not think you would come," Aragorn said as Legolas stood next to him. The elf's blue eyes were fixed upon the same point as Aragorn's own.

"He was my friend too," Legolas replied with a sigh, "and a member of the Fellowship. Do you think you are the only one who felt guilt over Boromir's death? Gimli and I share the same grief and Faramir is a great deal like him and yet subtly different as well. He is wiser and far more cunning than we give him credit."

In light of what Faramir had said to him before Eomer's arrival, Aragorn could not disagree. "You should have shown yourself," he glanced at Legolas finally, "Faramir would have like to have seen you."

"I think we both know that it is best that I keep my distance for the time being," Legolas returned.

"You think they will be alright?" Aragorn asked, deciding to avoid any difference of opinion at this time by revisiting old territories of discussion.

"I think so," Legolas answered confidently. "Pallando knows the country and Faramir knows the language of stealth. You have been in this realm have you not?"

"I have," Aragorn nodded, "but that was some time ago and I did not delve much further than this into Haradrim territory."

"If you would care to dine with a war monger like myself, I would be happy for the company," Legolas replied meeting his eyes with a hint of anxiety that he might refuse. For the moment at least it appeared that his old friend was back and Aragorn's spirit yearned too much for their friendship this night, to decline the invitation. Perhaps on some level, Legolas was starting to feel his isolation. He had taken the news of Gimli's return to the west under the guise of some crisis at Aglarond, with little comment although Aragorn was certain that Legolas would miss the dwarf's companionship.

"You are not serving lembas again are you?" Aragorn looked at him with a playful smile.

"How can you have lived in Imladris for twenty years and not learn to appreciate lembas?" Legolas retorted as they turned back to the camp together.

"The same way you have been my friend for the past  _sixty_  and still have no ability to retain hard spirits," Aragorn returned smoothly.

"Good point," Legolas answered conceding defeat.

"I thought so," Aragorn smirked and decided for tonight at least, they could forget the war and remember they were friends.

For as long as it was possible.

* * *

For Arwen Evenstar, having her dearest friends share the hospitality of her home while Aragorn was away should have been cause for joy. Marriage ensured that they would always be saying their goodbyes when they each returned to the lands of their husbands' lordship and while the occasions when they saw one another was not as infrequent as it could be, the time spent together was always cherished. They were each women who loved extraordinary men, who in their own way were somewhat extraordinary themselves and had formed a kinship that was no less binding then that shared by their husbands.

Thus whenever Eowyn and Melia came to stay, Arwen was reminded fondly of her youth when she lived in Lothlorien. In those days, she was just another maid in the house of maidens, enjoying camaraderie with others her age who knew her only as Arwen, instead of the Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar, Elrond's fair daughter. These days, the title had changed to the Queen of Gondor but the need to simply be herself among those who knew her simply as Arwen had not abated. Unfortunately on this occasion, the joy she would have derived from their stay had faded away because of the circumstances of their arrival.

Despite invitations to Rohan, newly wedded Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was determined to remain in Edoras as a gesture to her husband's people that as their new queen, she would not abandon them. Arwen could not fault her decision and admired that delicate young woman for being determined to serve Rohan. However, with all the trouble Edoras had endured in the recent siege, Arwen would have felt a good deal better if Lothiriel were afforded the protection of the White City. Fortunately, Lothiriel was more than capable of protecting herself, if the reports that Arwen had heard about her role in the attack upon Edorasby the Dunlendings was at all true.

  
Meanwhile, Eowyn who had been forced to journey to Minas Tirith to sit out her pregnancy in the safety of Gondor's capital city, was not impressed at having to abandon her fortress home in the wake of the Battle of the Eastern Eye. While the fortress had withstood the siege by the Easterlings and Haradrim, the mumakil onslaught had inflicted considerable damage to its structure and Arwen could appreciate why Faramir would send her here. Unfortunately, Eowyn was not one to be ordered to hide away in safety especially when she felt it her duty as the Lady of Ithilien to stand her ground. This coupled with the emotional turbulence that came with being in her condition, made Eowyn's mood temperamental to say the least. At last count, she had made at least five maids and two servants flee in terror.

Melia in contrast hardly spoke at all.

Since her arrival in the White City, the lady of Eden Ardhon had remained understandably out of sight. While she emerged from her room to ride her horse Lomelindi and dine with Arwen and Eowyn occasionally, for most part Melia spent a good deal of her time alone. Arwen and Eowyn did not impose themselves upon her because they knew of the ordeal she had endured and understood that Melia needed time to come to terms with her experience. Also, neither of them knew how to approach her regarding a subject that was not only difficult to discuss openly even, among women, but was also impossible to empathize unless one suffered a similar experience.

Seeing Melia in this way disturbed Arwen more than she cared to admit. When her mother Celebrian was returned to them after her abduction by orcs in the Misty Mountains, there was no doubt of what had happened to her during her captivity. Her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir would not say for certain in what condition they had found their mother, particularly to their father, but even Arwen was old enough to discern what everyone suspected. Even when she had returned home, Celebrian's manner had been detached, silent and very much in keeping with how Melia was behaving now. She had sailed across the sea in order to heal and Arwen hoped that she had done so sufficiently by the time Celebrian and her father were finally reunited.

However, there was no Undying Lands for Melia to flee to, no magic salve or words that could make the pain of what she endured disappear. Arwen was not even certain that the violation was what entirely burdened her mind. There was something else eating away inside Melia and try as she might, Arwen did not know how to help her. As Elrond's daughter, she too had her own healer's instincts and it pained the Evenstar considerably to be so helpless when her friend was in such dire need.

"We cannot let her go on this way," Eowyn remarked as they sat on the balcony, watching the day go by in the White City. It was a beautiful afternoon where birds chirped on tree branches and leaves rustled with a slight breeze, a day too beautiful when one remembered that elsewhere, the world was rife with war.

"Eowyn, there is little we can do," Arwen replied, understanding the lady's frustration because she felt it herself, "we can offer her our support but we cannot force her to talk until she is ready."

"How can she heal herself?" Eowyn replied, picking up the cup of hot tea in her hands and took a small sip before declaring," she pines for the child she could not save, as if there was anything she could have done to prevent it. She blames herself for something that is not fault of her own."

"You know that and I know that," Arwen said gently, "perhaps in some way Melia knows it as well but a person's heart and mind seldom speak in instances like this."

"Legolas should not have left her," Eowyn returned acerbically. "It is just like a man to abandon a woman and ride off to deal with his own guilt. He does not think that she might  _need_  him, he simply cares for the fact that he  _must_  avenge her. What good is the destruction of the Easterlings going to do for Melia? It is likely Legolas will never find the men who actually did the deed, if they are even still alive and it will not bring back the little girl."

The mention of Legolas immediately filled Arwen with her own concerns about the elf. Their friendship had spanned almost three millennia stemming from the days when Legolas would come to stay in Imladris during the summers.

Galadriel had been aware of Thranduil's concerns for his son because the boy was growing up without a mother. Like the doyen she was, Galadriel decided to take matters into her own hands by suggesting Celebrian make an invitation the Woodland king to have his young son come to Imlardis for a visit. Arwensmiled faintly, recalling the conversation that Celebrian and Elrond thought none of their young children could hear, regarding the Prince of Mirkwood's impending visit. Elrond had been reluctant mostly because he and Thranduil were polar opposites and did not think that a son of Thranduil would be any different. However, Celebrian would not be denied and was determined that Legolas would stay with them, putting forth her case with the stubbornness that could only come from a daughter of Galadriel.

Against that sheer will, not even Elrond had been able to refuse.

When Legolas did finally arrive, Arwen had found a rather shy, quiet boy who said little and held everyone at arm's length. He was so different to Elrohir's extroverted personality and Elladan's more sedate but no less confident manner. For the first few days, he had taken to hiding in the woods whenever it was possible to slip away. It appeared that the skill of stealth for which the Woodland elves were renown was something Legolas had possessed with astounding aptitude. Arwen almost laughed out loud when she remembered how Celebrian had taken Elrond's suggestion to tie a bell around the boy's neck so that they could find him.

It took a good deal of time for Arwen to find his hiding places and when she did, she discovered that he was not so much shy as he was accustomed to being alone. Thranduil loved him without doubt but as king, had little time to spend with a son who should have been a wife's responsibility at this early age. It was Arwen who befriended him first and she learnt that there was a great deal of complexity behind those intense blue eyes. She learned that he felt things deeply and when he decided you were his friend, he was loyal beyond reason. Arwen could have easily fallen in love with Legolas but somehow, they both knew that it was not meant to be and remained dear friends instead.

In learning to open his heart to her friendship, he was soon able to let others in as well and for more summers than even she could remember, Legolas had been a regular visitor to Imladris. Arwen knew him far better than possibly anyone alive save Thranduil or perhaps Aragorn. When she went to live in Lothlorien, he had paid regular visits, aware that she missed her father and her brothers. He taught her how to shoot a bow and Arwen was to learn that he had no equal in this skill anywhere in Middle earth.

Ironically enough, it was Legolas who had first brought Arwen the news from Imladris that Elrond had welcomed a human woman and her young son Estel, into his house.

_"He is very quiet," Legolas had said to Arwen, "but there is a strength to him. One can just discern its shape behind his eyes."_

_"Much like you were as a boy," Arwen had pointed out._

_"I think you might be right," Legolas smiled faintly, "perhaps that is why I like him so."_

  
Arwen blinked away the memories of the past and looked upon Eowyn in her present. The Lady of Ithilien was starting to show the effects of impending motherhood by the slight swell of her abdomen through the fabric of the lavender shift she was wearing. They say women glowed when they held life in their bodies and though Arwen could not honestly say she felt the least bit luminescent while she had been carrying Eldarion, she could not deny the luster on Eowyn's skin that resembled a fresh rinsed peach under the sunlight.

"It is not his fault Eowyn," Arwen spoke out in Legolas' defense. "He takes things to heart deeply, he always has. I think he is so blinded by his pain and by his perceived responsibility for what happened to Melia that he is unable to think of anything else. I fear for him."

"He was very different at Ithilien," Eowyn pointed out, unable to deny that Arwen's observations regarding Legolas' behavior was very accurate. The elf had not returned to Minas Tirith after the destruction of the Eastern Eye, having chosen to continue ahead into Haradwraith before the others set out. Faramir had remarked that perhaps Legolas ought to have waited, to have at least seen how Melia was faring. However, the elf was more than a little determined to begin his hunt for the enemy. She had noticed the shadow of concern in Faramir's eyes.

"I fear his anger," Arwen confessed, "he does not bear it well."

"Would any man or elf bear it well?" Eowyn looked at her in question.

Arwen could not answer because there was no answer to such a question. It curled in on itself, like a serpent eating its tail into infinity. If Estel were in the position that Legolas now occupied, she had no doubt his reaction would be any different. However, Aragorn was more than accustomed to dealing with his emotions than Legolas who had for as long as she remembered, had hidden them behind a mask of elven calm. He felt things passionately, which was one of the reasons why he was so restrained. Perhaps he knew himself, hot intensely the fury inside him could burn if it were allowed unleashing.

Arwen feared what he could do if his fury was well and truly enraged. The Queen of Gondor prayed that the reports she was hearing of his conduct since Ithilien were exaggerations of the truth because if there were not then war was the least of the Haradrim's problems. It had been burned the history of her people what the elves were capable of when they were unleashed upon the world in fury. Arwen prayed that Melia would never be confronted with the news that her husband may be leading his people on a crusade to murder innocents in her name.

And yet inwardly, remembering the sweet prince who had been her friend for so long, Arwen knew that unless she failed completely in her judgement of Legolas, that was precisely what was going to happen.

* * *

Across the desert landscape, the land of Haradwraith seemed unrelenting to the unsympathetic eye but to one who was able to see past their reason for being here, there was much to wet the appetite. There was a kind of beauty to the place, harsh and unyielding but distinctly its own, One could see it in the sand dunes and craggy mountains that were so unlike the lushness of the Misty Mountains and the lands of west. As the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the First Born moved across the dunes towards the range of mountains known as the Wall, Aragorn could begin to see it. The people who lived in these lands had to be admired for it could be no easy thing to eke a living in such seemingly barren waste.

Aragorn wished more than anything that the treaty he had set out to forge between the Confederacy and the Reunified Kingdom had come to pass. It would be quite something to learn more about the people who dwelt in this land. Years ago, he had journeyed to the Haradrim realm but what he had learnt was a splinter when one considered the many cultures that inhabited the southern and eastern corners of Middle Earth. All the west had ever known of these realms were that its people served Sauron and Morgoth. Since meeting Melia, they had been given the opportunity to learn that the Easterlings and the Southronshad their own traditions and beliefs. At the failed treaty ceremony, General Castigliari had shown Aragorn that they were also capable of honor and it had been the King of Gondor's deepest wish to see a peace forged between their realms.

Of course that was before Lebethron and Eden Ardhon.

Now there was only once course before them and it was a warrior's course. The peace that he had hoped to establish would only come from more war and with the defeat of the enemy. As much as he knew this had to be done, he despised having to bring the Haradrim and the Easterlings under Gondor's banner in this fashion. Unfortunately, what had been done at Eden Ardhon made any negotiation impossible. The leader of the Confederacy had committed the one crime that elves would not forgive and for that, the First Born were prepared to kill every Haradrim warrior able to raise a sword against them.

The army of men and elves continued their journey deeper into Haradrim territory with a shadow of uneasiness hanging over the heads of all who had seen the destruction of the villages and knew that it was the elves who were responsible. While the armies of Gondor and Rohan were comprised of seasoned soldiers who were disciplined enough to obey orders without question, they could not ignore what they had seen at Axinar and the memory of it forced them to look upon the elves in a different light. Faramir's words haunted Aragorn as he saw his men glancing at the elves with eyes that no longer bore the look of silent awe but rather trepidation.

Faramir was right, Aragorn thought as he led his army. It was far easier to bear the burden of the massacre than it was to know that elves were responsible for it.

And yet the elves  _had_  committed the atrocities and there was no denying it. Whether or not they noticed the shift in the way they were perceived by men, Aragorn could not say but knowing the perception of elves, he doubted very much that they were oblivious. The morning after Faramir's departure, Aragorn and Legolas found themselves standing upon the edge of different shores once more, an ocean of pain between them. They had dined together the night before and for a short time, were the companions they had always been. However, with the morning came the same distrust because the face Legolas wore was no longer that of his best friend but rather the cold, angry commander who had ordered the slaughter of innocents.

At night when the army rested and made camp, there was no sound of lively chatter or the camaraderie he was accustomed to hearing in a battle field encampment. Everyone seemed so sedate, speaking in soft voices and threading carefully like it was not sand beneath their feet but rather the fragile substance of unbroken eggshells. Aragorn wondered if the war in which his ancestor Isildur had cut the ring from Sauron's hand had been like this. It could not be easy for two races to integrate into a single fighting force. How had Elendil and Gil-galad overcome this hurdle? However, even as the thought crossed his mind, Aragorn knew that the reason for the pall was not because humans and elves were fighting alongside under the same banner, it was because the elves of this particular conflict had proven themselves to be merciless killers.

And the men of Rohan and Gondor were  _afraid_  of them.

The situation was not aided by the discovery upon entering deeper into Haradrim territory that many of villages between them and the wall were summarily abandoned. The armies of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar would arrive at these communes, usually built around a watering hole and find the town completely emptied of its inhabitants. One after the other, they were confronted with empty homes, vacant streets and the evidence that the villagers had fled quickly. It took no feat of genius to understand what had caused this mass exodus. No doubt after what had been done by the elves, the people of Haradwraith believed that a similar fate awaited for any village that lay in the path of the advancing army. Aragorn wondered how many people had been displaced by this flight and it concerned him where they might have gone since the barren wasteland did not offer many places where a large number of folk could hide.

Fortunately, the question was answered when the army arrived at the city of Cordoba.

In a land filled with sporadic watering holes, Cordoba had been given life because of a small tributary that had somehow carved a path through the passageway of the Splinter to culminate beyond the mountains of the Wall. This position gave Cordoba a certain amount of strategic importance, as it had become the gateway to the Splinter, ensuring that any advancing army would first have to contend with the garrison of soldiers that were stationed within the walls of its high fortress like construction. Unfortunately, in the wake of the recent attacks upon the rest of the country, most of these soldiers were withdrawn to the Sanara Belt to defend the capital cities, leaving only a skeleton force to protect the city walls. However, the void left by departing soldiers was soon filled by the hundreds of people who had flocked to the city, fearing the onslaught of the invading army.

Aragorn stared across the plain and saw the great length of the Wall running from one end of the horizon to the other with Eomer, Legolas and Imrahil next to him astride their own mounts. Unlike the Misty Mountains, the Wall was devoid of lush green forests or high snow covered peaks. The peaks of its ranges appeared as a jagged tear running across the blue sky, with sparse vegetation that were in Gondorian eyes little more than shrubbery. Aragorn could understand why it was called the Wall for the slopes of these mountains were sharp indeed and in some places, appeared to climb straight into the sky in a sheer cliff face. Against it, Cordoba seemed small but Aragorn was not deceived into thinking that the slabs of sandstone that enclosed the city were anything but formidable.

From a distance Cordoba seemed peaceful but Aragorn did not doubt that its inhabitants were aware of their presence. If nothing else, the influx of so many refugees would have given them away long before the armies of the Reunified kingdom made their appearance. Aragorn had no doubt that even as he and his comrades stared across the craggy terrain at the city; sentries placed on the watch towers along the wall were giving out the alarm that the enemy had finally arrived.

"Those walls will not be easy to breach," Eomer stated first as the King of the Mark studied the construction of the fortress. It did not look very different from the fortress of the Eastern Eye which had been formidable to say the least, certainly enough to take the brunt of savage attacks from a number of mumakils.

"And they know we are coming," Imrahil added.

"We must take it," Legolas declared firmly, having no wish to linger on the difficulties when their purpose was clear. "The fortress is large enough to conceal a sizeable force. If we bypass it and continue towards the Wall, we are leaving our rear guard to the possibility of attack."

"Legolas is right," Aragorn nodded in agreement, even if he did not like the calculation in the elf's voice as he made the statement. "We have to take the city but a siege is going to be difficult."

"We have the tools for it," Eomer commented, "however, I do not wish to linger here too long. As you have said, if the Haradrim king wishes to attack, we would be most vulnerable when we are passing through the Splinter. If these people delay our advance…"

"Then the Haradrim king may be able to intercept us with the reinforcements from the Variags and the Easterlings," Aragorn concluded.

"Those walls are capable of fending us off for weeks if they are determined enough," Imrahil pointed out. "I do not wish to waste all our resources attempting to breach that city. We are far from home and no way to acquire reinforcements if they tax us too greatly."

"I say we dam the city and burn it down," Legolas stated promptly.

All eyes turned to the elf in shock, unable to believe that this suggestion had come from Legolas.

"Burn it down?" Aragorn stared at his friend, wondering if he had taken leave of his senses. "That is not a military fortress, it’s a city filled with women and children."

"It is an obstacle that we must hurdle if we are continue into the Sanara Belt," Legolas reminded while staring at them as if they were children with no stomach for war. "We dam the flow of the river into Cordoba and begin bombardment with fire and the city will be ours in a matter of hours."

There was no denying the effectiveness of Legolas' plan but it was also extreme and likely to engender the outrage of all the eastern and southern kingdoms that had so far chosen to remain neutral in the conflict.

"No," Aragorn shook his head, refusing to even contemplate such a course of action. "I will not condone such brutality. We are not even certain of what kind of detachment has been left in that fortress. They may not have the soldiers to keep us out and I would rather attempt to negotiate with them before we turn to such brutality."

"You cannot fight this war trying to be noble Aragorn," Legolas declared haughtily and saw the flint in Aragorn's eyes before he wisely softened his words. Aragorn had a warrior's spirit and he was an excellent commander but he was not a man who thirsted for the blood of others even when it was necessary for the greater good. "I know you mean well but you are no novice at this, you know that time is of the essence. We must cross the Splinter before the arrival of the Haradrim reinforcements."

"This has nothing to do with nobility," Eomer interrupted abruptly. "There are women and children in that fortress. To embark upon the course you have suggested would endanger them most of all and inspire even the lowliest, most cowardly man to pick up a sword to avenge them."

"Then we should count ourselves lucky that he showed himself in time to be put down, before he chooses to throw in with the army of the Haradrim king when we leave here," Legolas countered just as sharply.

"Is that all you think about?" Eomer burst out, unable to restrain his anger any further following that statement. "The reason that city is full of women and children is because you and your elves have terrified them into running for their lives. Thanks to Axinar and the others like it, the Haradrim think we're butchers! The possibility of surrendering will not even be considered because they think it will only give us leave to ride in and slaughter them all, not an entirely far fetched notion after seeing what you and your people are capable of!"

"How dare you question my methods!" Legolas hissed. "Thanks to what  _my_  people are capable of, we have entered this realm virtually unopposed! The look of war is far different on the ground and we cannot all fight as nobly or appear as kingly as you from your horse! Down here there is blood and sometimes one must spill it in order to win the day! Has that thought escaped the Rohirrim who prefer to defend their people from outside the walls of very high fortresses where the risk to them is minimal? We do not all have a fortress to sequester our people and when we war against those who have harmed our own, we do not mince words with the trivialities. We need to take that city one way or another. The method I propose is not one I would wish upon any folk but it must be done and I would have assumed my comrades had stomach enough for it." He stared at Aragorn and Imrahil in accusation.

"What we have stomach for is not murder," Eomer glared at him.

"Gentlemen," Imrahil stepped in at this point, seeing the gleam of menace in Legolas' eyes. "This avails us nothing."

"Is your intention to kill every man, woman and child in this country?" Eomer asked, ignoring his father-in-law's wise counsel. "That will not remove the stain on Melia's honor. Nothing can."

"Do not bring my wife into this !" Legolas shouted angrily at the mention of Melia's name and the rest of Eomer's accusation, grabbing the horse lord with his fists in readiness to strike. The Rohirrim lord was more than prepared to meet the elf and retaliated in kind. Imrahil had somehow maneuvered himself in between both men trying to separate them. Meanwhile their horses were neighing in protest at their masters' behavior before man and beast were suddenly frozen by an abrupt bellow of rage.

  
"THAT WILL BE ENOUGH!" Aragorn Elessar fairly roared.

Legolas, Imrahil and Eomer stared at Aragorn who was breathing hard, his face red with anger. The king of Gondor glared back at the trio with narrowed eyes and spoke in a low voice, little more than a growl once he had their undivided attention. "I will hear no more of this bickering from any of you! Do you understand me?" He turned his steel gaze at Eomer. "We are allies in this conflict and until now, I had believed friends as well. I will not have us fighting like children in front of our warriors who rely upon us to keep a cool head upon our shoulders to lead them!"

No one spoke and Aragorn continued to speak, trembling as the words left in a litany of controlled rage.

"We will camp here and in the morn, we will send a message to Cordoba informing its people unless they capitulate and surrender to us, we will begin a siege of incendiary bombardment."

"You cannot…"

"I am  _not_  finished," Aragorn cut Eomer off sharply before he continued. "We will give them a day to agree and if they do not, we will give them another day and allow the safe passage of anyone who wishes to leave the city."

"You cannot let them simply walk out!" Legolas exclaimed.

"SAFE PASSAGE I SAID!" Aragorn snarled angrily. "I will agree to your plan but I will not be party to the killing of innocent folk whose only crime is that they chose this city  _as_  their sanctuary after you frightened them out of their wits with the possibility of a massacre. If the city does not yield to us in those two days, then we will take those extreme measures that we've discussed but not before then, are we clear?"

"If provision is made for the safe passage of women and children, I will agree," Eomer conceded the point. It was not often that they saw Aragorn in this state of mind and even though they were equals, Eomer could not help be intimidated by his fury.

"Anything that can stop this bickering and bloodshed falls in my favor," Imrahil replied, offering Aragorn a look of sympathy for the difficulties he was enduring on this campaign.

Aragorn turned to Legolas who was connected to his willful gaze with one of their own. Their eyes bore into each other, trying to see who would break first under the tremendous pressure of their hard gaze. In this instance, no one could match Aragorn for sheer will and Legolas broke away first, turning his eyes away to avoid any more of that penetrating glare.

"I will concede to let the women and children go," Legolas replied softly.

"Good," Aragorn replied with a hoarse sigh and dismounted Roheryn. He took the animal by the reins and started to lead it away from the three riders.

"Where are you going?" Imrahil asked Aragorn with concern as both Eomer and Legolas were still recovering from their outburst to feel anything for the king other than a hint of shame.

"Away," Aragorn said quietly. "I need a moment."

He was glad that Imrahil did not question him further because Aragorn needed to catch his breath and prayed that Gimli would return soon with Melia because for the first time in his life, Aragorn had never felt so alone even though he was surrounded by so many.

* * *

It did not take long for the army of the alliance to establish itself outside the city of the Cordoba whose awareness of their presence was soon revealed by the number of soldiers that gathered quickly on the wall as they began to set up camp a short distance away. The Haradrim made no effort to emerge from their bastion, deciding to hold position as they observed the enemy taking a clearly offensive position before them. Both armies regarded each other with barely concealed hostility, perfectly aware that there was a kind of protocol to be followed in these affairs and that neither side would attack until the appropriate moment which the Haradrim soon concluded would not be immediate. Instead, they watched the Gondorian foot soldiers, Rohirrim cavalry and elven archers spread out across the plains before them in a giant net, ensuring that though it had not been declared, war almost certainly was upon them.

  
The night that followed was one of deathly silence with both armies keeping guarded eyes upon each other. In either camp, fortifications were made as Cordoba prepared itself for a siege and Aragorn drafted the message that would be sent to the city's leaders at dawn. He knew that the wording of such documents were important and he crafted it with all the sincerity he could put into the written word, praying that it would convince the enemy that negotiation was possible and that the Reunified Kingdom would not sanction bloodshed if it could be avoided. However, it was difficult for his cause to have any real weight when Gondorian artillerymen were preparing the machines of bombardment. This much, they had learnt at Lossarnach because the Confederacy's assault upon the city had been very effective indeed.

Thanks to dwarf ingenuity, the design of the Haradrim trebuchet was improved for Gondor's purposes and the range and the ability to crumble walls was much improved. The Haradrim watched grimly as soldiers gathered the fodder for these weapons while elven archers sharpened arrows and cast their steely gaze across the distance to see far more clearly than their human counterparts. Aragorn counted no more than several hundred Haradrim soldiers and it was with irony that he remembered how he and the Rohirrim were similarly outnumbered at the battle of Helm's Deep.

At first light, the herald was sent to the walls of Cordoba, to deliver to its leaders the message for a noon meeting in order for their situation to be discussed. Aragorn looked to the meeting with hope, praying that he could convince Cordoba that yielding would not open its people to the slaughter. Undoubtedly, this was what they must believe after the tales of Axinar had returned to them through the fleeing refugees from the villages. Legolas was skeptical that any agreement could be reached and had become more sullen then ever now Eomer had made it clear what his comrades thought of his actions prior to their meeting at the rendezvous.

At noon, with the sun at its highest, Aragorn emerged from his tent and mounted Roheryn once more. Clad in the mail of a king and carrying Anduril in its scabbard, he rode toward the meeting place flanked by Legolas, Eomer and Imrahil. Providing escort was a contingent of elven guards, led by Nunaur whose proficiency as Legolas' bodyguard would ensure that the kings of men accompanying his lord would be similarly protected. They rode to the center of the field, on the flat plain between their encampment and the city of Cordoba and waited. On the walls of the city, the enemy soldiers watched while the armies of the Alliance maintained a presence that ensured that protocols of warfare were observed during this meeting.

The great wooden doors of Cordoba parted just enough for a single file of riders to emerge from its inside. Aragorn had expected to see men astride horses but the beasts that emerged were nothing he had ever seen before and it looked absurd in comparison to a horse. Long ungainly necks, with a decidedly goat like head bobbing upon it. The creatures were larger than horses but their backs were humped and their toes splayed wide and did not at all resemble hooves. Eomer's expression of shock almost made Aragorn smile, while Imrahil and Legolas merely stared with brows raised. Three of these beasts made their way towards the party from the west and perched rather comfortably upon their backs were men who had the look of Haradrim warriors with their red robes and their scimitar weapons hanging from their waists.

"What is it?" Eomer whispered at Aragorn before the trio approached.

"I am not certain," Aragorn answered truthfully, "when I wandered these lands some years before I heard of a creature they called the droma that is the preferred method of travel for the deep desert dwellers, I suppose this could be that beast."

"It does not look very impressive," Eomer replied, his mind filled with questions typical to cavalrymen. "Do you suppose they ride them into battle?"

"I could not say," Aragorn confessed though he could not imagine the fearsome Haradrim warriors entering a battle riding these ridiculous looking creatures.

His curiosity faded however when the Cordoban leaders closed the distance and finally reached their position. The leader was a man not much older than Imrahil however, his brown skin glistened with sweat and showed little signs of age. Beneath the rather elaborate headpiece he was wearing, Aragorn suspected that he had little hair. His facial hair however remained abundant by his beard and by the thick eyebrows over his brown eyes. The rest of him was covered in the customary red worn by most Haradrim and his neck was adorned with gold with one ear pierced. The other two were younger men who resembled the first and Aragorn suspected that they were most likely his sons.

"I am King Elessar," Aragorn introduced himself.

"We know who you are," the man spoke coldly but his eyes were fixed clearly upon Legolas. "You are the king of the Reunified Kingdom, your companions are the lord of Dol Amroth, the horse king of Rohan and," his eyes narrowed as he glared at Legolas, "the butcher of Axinar."

"Lord Legolas of Eden Ardhon if you please," Legolas responded as he stared back at the man stonily.

"Would we have the honor of knowing with whom we are negotiating?" Aragorn interrupted, sensing that this was going to be a futile exercise but was compelled nonetheless to make the effort. Unfortunately, the Cordoban's reaction to Legolas did not bode well for this outcome of these proceedings.

"My name is Satarin," the man introduced himself, "I am First Minister of Cordoba and these are my sons, Oneyros and Caifas."

  
Acknowledgements were made of these introductions before Aragorn drew a deep breath, hoping his argument could sway this man. As it was, the hatred in his eyes for Legolas ensured that the idea of surrendering would be a difficult proposition at best, if not outright impossible. "First Minister, we have no desire for bloodshed but we must secure your city. If you surrender, you have my word that your people will be treated fairly. No one wants to see needless death here."

Satarin shifted his gaze from Legolas to Aragorn long enough to laugh derisively, "needless bloodshed! Do you think me a fool! I know what was the result of your  _needless_  bloodshed at Axinar, Laxor, Bracat and Turazon! I have their women and children here in my city, weeping tales of how the Eldar have done insane, butchering and murdering. This animal here was seen murdering a child!"

Aragorn turned sharply to Legolas in astonishment and saw that the accusation had penetrated the elf's aloof mask and shook the stony expression from his face for a brief instant. However, Legolas was too adept at hiding his emotions to allow the lapse to continue for longer than that and soon the impenetrable veil lowered over his eyes once more. Aragorn however, could not dispel the shock of the news so easily and neither could Eomer and Imrahil who dropped their eyes to the ground because they could not meet Satarin's with anything but horror.

"What was done before," Aragorn said in a low voice, trying to hide just how much Satarin's statement had affected him, "will not occur here. We have no wish to kill innocents but we are at war and your armies were nowhere as considerate when they rode into  _our_  lands and butchered and raped  _our_  people."

"I cannot say what my king has done with his army," Satarin replied, clearly unmoved by Aragorn's speech. "However, I know what your Eldar allies have done and we will not submit to you. We will not allow you to murder our men who are not all soldiers. Some are farmers, farriers, stable hands, tailors, smiths and craftsmen. You have wiped out the fathers of families who now have no one to provide for them. If you think for one instance I will throw open the gates of  _my_  city to let you slaughter them the way you slaughtered the others, then you know less about Haradrim courage than this murdering elf!"

"Enough!" Aragorn shouted, unable to hear that insult once more because he would have to think about what Legolas was accused and this was neither the time nor place for that. "We are assembled here under a banner of truce, I will remind you to afford him the civility due of such an occasion."

"I will offer no civility to a murderer of children," Satarin hissed venomously, "nor I will entertain any idea of peace or surrender, not to one who could condone such behavior, even from an ally."

"And we have no mercy for those who would defend the actions of a king who has committed far worse atrocities than what you are accusing me of," Legolas returned with just as much vehemence. "We will take your city one way or another. I had hoped for the sake of my allies that this could be done amicably but like all the Haradrim, you are poisoned by hatred."

  
"Legolas enough," Aragorn spoke up trying to keep the talks from turning into a shouting match but it was too late and he knew it.

"You can try but we will make you pay in blood before we yield," Satarin threatened. "While there is breath in my body, we will never surrender not I or any of my sons."

"Then your family will end with you and your sons," Legolas bit back with a gleam of such menace in his eyes that it made Aragorn shudder. "We will take your city and you will be eternally grateful that we were nowhere as brutal as your king was at Eden Ardhon and Lebethron."

"Enough!" Aragorn clutched his arm to silence him. Facing Satarin, he conceded defeat at being able to convince the man of their peaceful intentions and uttered calmly, "I will not take this as your irrefutable answer until you have time to ponder our offer. However, I shall expect a response by the time sun reaches noon tomorrow. If I do not have your surrender, consider yourselves given a further day to remove your women and children for you surely do not want them in the city when we come for you an hour after that time has passed."

Satarin tugging the reins of his mount as he turned back to his city, concluding their 'negotiations' with a chillingly final statement of defiance.

"We will be waiting when you do."

* * *

 

Aragorn did not speak until he saw Satarin disappear into Cordoba's walls once more.

He remained on the field where their discussions had failed so disastrously, unable to prompt Roheryn into moving because his thoughts were too filled with horror at what Satarin had revealed to him. Legolas was still staring at the ground unable to meet his gaze while Eomer's expression was unfathomable. Imrahil was quiet, too seasoned the diplomat to show his true feelings but Aragorn, Aragorn could only stare at Legolas aghast because his mind could not accept that his friend, for all that he had seen in Axinar, could have taken a blade to a child. Yet, Legolas' inability to meet his eyes seemed only to confirm the truth of the First Minister's words.

"Is it true?" Aragorn asked after what seemed like an eternity of time. He could not even look at Legolas when he asked the question and the words escaped him through a clenched jaw.

Legolas' voice trembled when he answered, "it was an accident."

"An accident?" Aragorn raised his eyes to the elf's. "How can the murder of a child be an accident?"

"It was not murder," Legolas said and wondered if Aragorn knew what it had been like for him to discover that mistake, to see the blood on his hands and know that the boy's death had forced him unwillingly over a line he had never intended to cross. When he had taken that child's life, Legolas came to the conclusion that he had not only torn apart Melia's soul but his own as well.

"He came up behind me," Legolas whispered, wanting desperately for Aragorn to believe him. Until this moment, Legolas had not comprehended how important it was for his best friend to understand that he had not meant to kill that boy. "I did not realize that he was a child until it was too late. I would never hurt a child intentionally, you know that."

However, Aragorn's eyes betrayed him when he looked at Legolas. Before this war had begun, Legolas was the last person that Aragorn would believe capable of such a brutal act but seeing Axinar and all the villages following it had forced him to alter his perception of the elf. He saw the anguish in Legolas' eyes and wished he had been able to shield his thoughts because the elf really needed his belief and Aragorn was unable to give it.

"I see," Legolas said with a quivering voice, turning away from Aragorn. Digging his heels into Arod's flanks, the horse bolted forward carrying Legolas away from the three men.

Eomer looked up at Aragorn after Legolas had gone, the unfathomable look that Aragorn had been unable to discern earlier had withered away into something that surprised the king of Gondor somewhat when he recognized what it was.

Pity.

"What?" Aragorn demanded of the Rohirrim king, flinching beneath the hard stare Eomer was giving him. Even Imrahil's initial horror had waned and the older man remained silent because he knew not how to counsel the king in this matter.

"I think you should have believed him," Eomer stated to Aragorn's astonishment.

"I would have thought that of  _all_  people, you would have been the first to agree with me on this," Aragorn returned sharply, feeling even worse now.

"There is no excuse for what he has done," Eomer replied quietly, "but it does explain greatly what has happened since."

And with that, Eomer rode away leaving Aragorn the terrible suspicion that he had failed his best friend when Legolas had needed him most.

 


	5. The Sanara Belt

While the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar were presently halted in their progress beyond the walls of Cordoba, Faramir and Pallando were crossing the desert with surprising speed. Faramir discovered that the Rangers had not exaggerated when they had told the Ruling Council that the news of the massacres at Axinar and the other villages had spread far and wide across Haradwraith. Their journey to the Sanara Belt was fraught with encounters with refugees who were fleeing towards the capital city in sheer terror of being slaughter by the First Born. As the two men of the west continued their journey, they saw more and more evidence of this mass exodus.

However, despite the urgency sweeping across the lands, Faramir had time to absorb the textured beauty of the Haradrim culture, and grieved that there had been so little time to learn more about these people before the actions of all had put them on a course bound for war. He found that while it was easy to believe that the desert was a barren wasteland, Faramir had found it teeming with an odd sort of life that was very much adapted for life in the dunes. He saw small, hardy creatures, from insects to snakes, lizards and tortoises, to small furry things that burrowed in the sand and seemed to know where to find water when it did not appear there was any. He saw great birds sailing through the air and saw shrubs growing where it would seem impossible for any to take root.

It was not just the wildlife that brought the desert alive but also its people. It appeared that only a small portion of dwellers in the desert actually settled around watering holes. In the lands called the Barrens, being the territories beyond the reach of the great river, life continued after a fashion. Most in this realm tended to lead nomadic existences, wandering from watering hole to watering hole, herding goat or sheep. Whole families spent their entire lives never bound to any single place. Faramir wondered what it was like to live in such a manner, to have no home to speak of but merely a collection of familiar places visited time and time again.

The folk he encountered were simple people with little concern over the machinations of their king or the former lord of Mordor. There were those who went to the cities, who broke away from their untethered lives to become more than what they were. Of those, their fates could not be discerned however, to Faramir their tales were no different that any he had heard from the peoples of Gondor or Rohan. It was a difficult time for these people who were being driven harder and harder, from water source to water source, in search of the sustenance to feed their livestock and themselves at the same time. Faramirremained largely silent during his encounters with the Haradrim, mostly because while they appeared friendly enough, he was uncertain how they would feel at having the presence of a western lord in their midst and it was far simpler to avoid the complication by remaining anonymous

Pallando fortunately, proved to be an able translator as they made their journey eastward and was a very interesting companion. The wizard was vastly different than Gandalf but also very much alike the old man whom had been apart of Faramir's life for the better part of his youth. It was Gandalf who had inspired him to learn the history of his country preserved in books and because of him, Denethor's youngest son found a world where he could forge an identity of his own without trying to emulate his brother or win his father's approval.

Pallando, in contrast to Gandalf's all knowing guise, did not seem so infallible and was certainly more human. Faramir suspected that even the Maiar did not escape feelings of guilt and from what Legolas had told him about he and Melia's first encounter with the wizard, Pallando certainly had his share of it. Pallando blamed himself for the deconstruction of Alatar, one of the five Istari who arrived in Middle Earth during the Second Age to combat Sauron. Alatar had his own ideas in how to achieve this and had believed that the creation of a perfect life form, invulnerable to corruption was the manner in which to succeed. It was his obsession with this plan that forced he and Pallando to go their separate ways.

Alatar used as the template for this new life, the river women who were minions of the Valar Ulmo. Unfortunately, it required more power than he had to complete his task and he was forced to ally himself with Sauron, believing that the Lord of Mordor would unknowing aid in his own destruction when Alatar'screations were completed. In Alatar's mind, the ends justified the means but he had made a grave miscalculation because Sauron's powers were dark and possessed the ability to corrupt the spell that would transform the river women from beacons of light into the creations of absolute nightmares.

Melia's mother had been a river woman and the course of Melia’s arrival in the western lands had been engaged in the search the lady. When she, Legolas and Pallando finally found Alatar, the wizard was nearly insane and exhausted from trying to keep his creations from emerging to bedevil an unsuspected world. Pallando, who had been allowed to come to Middle Earth because of Alatar's plea on his behalf to the Valar, was forced to aid in his friend's downfall. Faramir suspected that despite his reasons being compelling, Pallando had never quite forgiven himself for abandoning Alatar and allowing him to embark upon his disastrous end.

They were well past the Splinter when they encountered, after much deliberation as to whether or not contact ought to be made, a group of travellers who did not resemble the nomads they had previously met. For starters, these folk appeared to travel in large caravans and did not resemble farmers or animal herders. Instead, they were garbed colourfully with the creatures that Faramir had now learnt were called droma, laden with wares of every kind. It did not take the Prince of Ithilien long to discover that these were traders who serviced the communities in the desert by bringing them goods from the capital cities that were too far for them to acquire otherwise.

Unfortunately, with the news that the First Born were rampaging through Haradwraith killing everyone in sight, the caravan had decided to end this particular trip early in order to return home to the Sanara Belt. Despite finding Legolas’ behavior at Axinar morally objectionable, as a man Faramir could understand all too well that pain that drove the elf to his bloody course. However in the murderous reputation the elves were gaining across Haradwraith and the panic caused by the massacres throughout the local population, Faramir was beginning to see a deeper consequence of Legolas’ actions. Folk who had no interest in the war might be willing to fight for their king if they believed the elves would leave none alive if they were defeated.

Now that their armies were travelling together as one under Aragorn’s lead, Faramir hoped the people of Haradwraith would learn that the armies of the Westernesse were not invading their country for the purposes of genocide.

The caravan was more than welcome to accept two strangers into their midst with new stories of their own lands to bring to the campfire in exchange. Apparently, one of the Haradrim’s favourite pastimes was the exchange of tales, particularly among those who lived a nomadic or semi-nomadic existence. The passing of stories revealed to them the geographical and cultural knowledge regarding the lands beyond their own. Faramir supposed that in the western lands the same might be accomplished of the wandering minstrels and bards but during the years prior to the War of the Ring, such travel was hazardous and the practice had been more or less discarded.

Pallando’s spell of glamour preformed its function remarkably well and the caravan leader, a man named Roshal was more than willing to accede to Pallando’s request that he and Faramir journey with them into the Sanara Belt. When Roshal admired the horses that they had made their journey, Pallando made them a surprising offer that Faramir was quick to balk at when it was first proposed.

"Give up my horse?" The Ranger stared at the wizard.

"Horses are for the rich," Pallando pointed out as they discussed the matter privately beyond the earshot of others. "As we are attempting to enter Mahazar disguised as travellers and do not wish to raise suspicion, we must relinquish them for something more conventional and least likely to call attention to ourselves. Roshal can afford to purchase them and they will be given good homes since horses are much valued to the Haradrim."

Faramir frowned because Pallando was right much to his chagrin. As a Ranger, he knew the sense of Pallando’s words although the alternate form of travel the wizard would have them use engendered a surge of distaste within the prince of Ithilien at the very thought of it. Unfortunately, the Istar’s argument was a valid one and the reason for their journey was far too important for him to jeopardize because of his personal dislikes. In any case, he supposed that it could not be  _that_  difficult to master the replacement for his horse.

No matter how  _undignified_  the beast may appear.

Fortunately, Faramir’s mount was not the animal he rode normally because the possibility of having to abandon the creature was not new to him when he and Pallando set out to the Sanara Belt. However, he had seen what these desert dwellers used to travel instead of horses and he would prefer attempting to ride a mumakil than the creature he was forced to accept when the trade for the horses was finally made.

"We will never get anywhere on these things," Faramir remarked as he saw the animal standing over him, masticating a piece of hay that had had become pulp long ago. It appeared as if its lower jaw and the rest of its face was not in agreement as to which direction it should go whilst chewing and Faramir was reminded of grazing cows. The beast stared at him indifferently as he made the statement but its eyes was fixed on its new master. Faramir had the oddest feeling he was being sized and the jet of saliva that splattered on the ground next to his foot from the creature’s mouth a second later was a good indicator that the beast found him lacking.

"They are surprisingly fast," Pallando replied, aware that men of the west were too attached to their horses and the stature of riding one and was thus extremely patient with his younger companion’s obvious distaste. "This beast can carry you for a week without food or water. See the hump?" Pallando patted the swell on the creature’s back, "this is where they store water and food. If we fall into unfortunate circumstances, which are highly likely in this desert wasteland, this animal will bring you out of it where a horse would die."

Faramir  _truly_  despised it when Pallando was right.

The rest of the day was spent learning to ride the thing, an experience which reminded Faramir of his youth when it was Boromir doing the teaching. Fortunately, Pallando was far more patient a teacher than his older brother whom, at the height of his frustration, claimed Denethor had found Faramir in the market place, since he could not  _possibly_  be Boromir’s brother and be so terrible on a horse. This experience was marginally less intolerable although Faramir had never thought getting the droma to heel in order to mount the beast could be so hard. However, once the animal had yielded enough to allow him that privilege, Faramir had found that the mechanics of it were not so different than riding a horse; it was only the signals that changed.

Roshal had been terribly thrilled to acquire two horses in exchange for two of his dromas since the former was certainly of more value. He invited Faramir and Pallando to dine in his tent and though Faramir would have preferred them to keep to themselves, Pallando had accepted on the invitation, citing that it would be extremely rude to decline since the caravan would aid their entry into the Sanara Belt. Faramir however, was anxious about being in close proximity with so many since his understanding of the Haradrim language was rudimentary at best. Most of the time he had allowed Pallando to speak for him, though Faramir was starting to think that commending oneself completely into the hands of an Istar was not always the best course, if what Frodo Baggins had revealed about his uncle’s adventures with Gandalf was any comparison.

Dining with a Haradrim patriarch was something of an experience. None of these people travelled without the full complement of family, even caravans selling wares. Roshal was no different and when Faramir and Pallando arrived to dine in the man’s large tent, his family including a gaggle of daughters were present, serving food and seeing to the comfort of arriving guests. However, what Faramir found extremely disconcerting was that he and Pallando seemed to be the only guests and that a good deal of pomp was dedicated to the affair.

"Welcome, welcome," Roshal, a short, swarthy man with dark skin and a rapidly greying beard said with open arms and he led Faramir and Pallando to short table on the ground. As Faramir had come to learn since encountering the Haradrim during this journey, they preferred to sit on cushions rather than on chairs.

Faramir let Pallando do the talking as he swept his gaze across the tent and noted the women tittering in his direction from behind colourful veils that partially hid their faces. Faramir was not unaccustomed to their clothing, remembering how Ulfrain and his wife had been clothed during the failed treaty celebrations at Gondor. What he did like about Haradrim fabrics however was their colour, which seemed to border on vibrant to near iridescence. If trade were ever established between their peoples, Faramir was certain that women of the west would be clamouring for their fabrics. The women in the tent did not speak to him directly, even though he saw their eyes shifting furtively in his direction periodically.

The spell did not change his appearance but allowed other people to simply ignore that he was a man of the Westernesse. Pallando had told Roshal that they heralded from lands beyond Rhun and were seeking to establish a new life in a warmer climate as well as explore new territories. Roshal seemed to accept this readily enough and paid Faramir more attention than the former Ranger would have liked because it made him wonder if Roshal could see past his guise. However, if Roshal suspected them of anything, he certainly did not make mention of it.

"The famine does not appear to have effected you," Pallando observed when they sat down to dine and the meals were served.

The aroma of the food was exotic like the Haradrim people, Faramir found himself thinking, and was thick with spices and meat. He saw very little in the way of vegetables other than tubers and the kind that grew in a land starving for rain. The food like their cloth was colourful and there seemed to be some reverence in the way it was splayed out before the guests. The young lady who served him certainly took a great deal of ceremony in the way she laid the table whilst casting stealthy glances at him at the same time.

 _Strange_ , he thought silently.

"Well I am not a man without a fortune," Roshal confessed, unperturbed by the question since in this time, the famine was a part of life and not easily ignored. "There is plenty of food in the Belt but that too is starting to dwindle. This feast you see before you are expensive but it is no different than what it costs at Mahazar. So many are flocking to the cities for food and work but there is little of either when there is no rain or crops. I had hoped that I would make one last trip into the Barrens before it was necessary to return home and wait out the war but circumstances have made it difficult."

"We are honoured then that you have been so accommodating," Pallando said genuinely touched by the hospitality shown when it was clear that Roshal had his troubles of his own.

"Think nothing of it," Roshal declared dismissively, "those horses you trade for the droma are worth their weight in gold, certainly worth your meals whilst travelling with us."

He did not see Faramir flinch involuntarily at the loss of the horses

"In truth," Roshal turned his gaze to Faramir, "I had an ulterior motive for asking you to join us."

Faramir, who understood better than he could speak, immediately tensed at that statement. He cursed under his breath because he had entered the tent armed only with a dagger he had hidden within his boot. However, Pallando did not seem to be terribly concerned at this statement, which made Faramir wonder what the wizard knew that he did not. Deciding he would give the wizard the benefit of the doubt, Faramir reached for the goblet of wine that had been poured before him.

"What sort of motive?" Pallando asked, forcing himself to keep from smiling because he had a good sense what this was about and had neglected to tell Faramir for good reason.

"Your young friend appears to be a man who knows his mind," Roshal said with a smile, "sensible as well. Surely when one is going to a new land, one can only prosper with a wife. I have many daughters and it would be my privilege to offer anyone of them you wish for your own."

Faramir who was in mid swallow, promptly choked.

"What?" He managed to croak and noted the giggling that came behind a curtain at the edge of the tent. At least four sets of eyes were peering at him through the colored veils and suddenly Faramir had a clear idea why they had been stealing glances at him all evening.

"I am sorry," Pallando said with a perfectly straight face considering the circumstance. "My friend has already a wife in his own lands."

"Oh," Roshal mused with a disappointed sigh, his shoulders slacking at Pallando’s answer. "I had hoped for one of my daughters, the position of First Wife at least but I am certain the position of Second Wife is no less important."

"Second wife?" Faramir asked, somehow managing to cross the language barrier most effectively.

"Yes," Roshal looked at him, "a man must take more than one wife. How else is supposed to ensure a houseful of sons?"

He had nothing to say to Roshal in answer and looked somewhat frantically at Pallando for assistance in extracting him from this embarrassing and wholly unacceptable situation. Of all the things he had expected to encounter as a Ranger, this was as far down the proverbial list as one could imagine. Faramir had never thought of it that way. However, he knew that if he were to return home with a second wife, a house full of sons would be an impossibility since the part of his anatomy required to accomplish that task would not remain connected to his person for very long once Eowyn was done with him.

"It is not customary," Pallando intervened, taking pity on Faramir, "for people of his lands to take more than one wife."

"You mean your people are simply content with one wife?" Roshal exclaimed, staring at Faramir in nothing less than shock. "What if she falls ill and is unable to bear a child?"

"They believe in death being the only reason to take another wife," Pallando explained, "however, one cannot make a new life in a new country without accepting its customs, therefore I am certain that my young companion will be more than happy to accept one of your daughters."

Considering he understood clearly what Pallando had said and by the widening grin on Roshal’s face and a resumption of the girlish titters he could hear behind the curtain, Faramir kept him composure remarkably well.

"Pallando," he looked at the wizard, speaking in Westron which they had learnt by now Roshal did not understand, "might I have a moment?"

"Of course," Pallando replied calmly and then turned to Roshal and declared in Haradrim, "my friend would like to discuss which of your daughters he would like to select. Please excuse us."

Faramir was fairly turning red and it was a fortunate thing that they left the tent when they did because the Prince of Ithilien was not at all happy by the situation he found himself. They left the confines of the tent and stepped out into the warm night, putting some distance between themselves and Roshal so that they could speak without being overheard. Once they were far enough away, almost to the edge of the encampment, Faramir halted and faced Pallando.

"What are you doing to me?" He demanded. "I cannot marry anyone! I have a wife and soon a child as well!"

"I know that," Pallando said calmly as if he were dealing with a child throwing a tantrum.

"And you knew!" Faramir accused him. "You knew they were going to ask of me such a thing?"

"I suspected," the wizard shrugged, "however, I was not certain until I saw the ceremony of our meal in his presence. You must understand that daughters are used in the same way alliances are formed in the Western lands. However, it appear Roshal has  _many_  daughters and because of the war, is anxious that he will be unable to provide for them. I suspect that he is trying to marry them off to anyone he finds remotely suitable."

"I sympathize with his difficulties," Faramir returned, calming himself because he did feel for the man’s plight. "However, I am a Prince of Ithilien and a Ranger, I came into this land in order to gather intelligence, not a wife."

"And to do that, we require their assistance to slip into Mahazar covertly," Pallando countered. "It is a grave insult in this culture to refuse a man when he offers you his daughter."

"I cannot take a second wife!" Faramir cried out in exasperation. "Eowyn will kill me, and I do not mean that that figuratively, I mean it in the manner of ‘I shall wake up one night and find my innards about my throat’. My wife knows her weapons."

"Calm yourself Prince," Pallando said smoothly, amused greatly by Faramir’s reaction and was performing a minor feat of magic by hiding it from the Ranger of Ithilien. "Were you  _this_  skittish on your wedding night?"

Faramir straightened and looked him in the eye, "you are not funny and thanks to your gracious acceptance on my behalf, we have a problem."

"No we do not," Pallando sighed knowingly, "you will agree to marry one of his daughters but not before we arrive at Mahazar because you wish to purchase a house before welcoming your new bride into your bed. Once we are there, it will be a simple matter to slip away and you will have no fear of committing adultery."

"I had not planned on it anyway," Faramir glared at him, appeased by Pallando’s suggestion despite the whole thing being completely improper to begin with. "If he agrees to wait until we reach Mahazar, I will go along with this plan, otherwise, I am taking my droma and we will take our chances on our own in entering the city ourselves. I miss my wife terribly, more than I can say. It pains me to leave her when she is with child and the idea of taking another is abhorrent."

  
"She is a fortunate woman to be held in such regard," the wizard remarked in understanding as they walked back to Roshal’s tent. "However, your lady recognizes war and its needs far better than most, she will understand your need to play this charade."

"I shall never tell her," Faramir muttered, imagining the embarrassment and wondered at the things he was forced to do for king and country.

Pallando grinned and added as they neared the tent, "now all there is left for you to do is be very diplomatic when you choose one of them."

Faramir stared at him, "choose?"

* * *

Fortunately for Faramir, Roshal agreed to his desire to wait until they arrive at Mahazar for the wedding to take place much to the Prince’s relief. However, if he thought the embarrassment he had endured at this whole affair was ended with his acceptance of Roshal’s offer, then the Prince of Ithilien was great mistaken. As Pallando had predicted, Faramir was forced to choose one among Roshal’s daughters to be his second wife and the whole process was terribly awkward since to do this, they had to parade before him as animals at the marketplace. He had hardly paid any attention to them during their journey, more focused on observing Haradrim culture than the young women who cast their gazes his way. He knew that he had inspired their interest for he had been known to women as being somewhat fair, however, he had never thought their interests was more than that until the moment was upon him.

Since none, by his reckoning at least, could compare in the slightest to the golden haired goddess he had married and who was at this moment, swelling with his child, Faramir simply chose the face most familiar to him which was the girl who had served him during the meal. While the alliances that could be forged by marriageable daughters was not uncommon, until now Faramir had not really considered how humiliating it must be for a woman to be simply traded about like pawns on a chessboard between great houses bent on furthering their political standing. It was no different here and Faramir was certain that these young ladies were probably no less thrilled at being presented to him with little consent required on their part. The whole incident made Faramir swear that if he and Eowyn were to have a daughter, she would choose her own mate.

Aside from his impending matrimony with one of Roshal’s daughter, the rest of the journey progressed smoothly without much incident although as they crossed the mountains and neared the outskirts of the Sanara Belt, Faramir began to see greater evidence of the war that was approaching its fertile lands. Soldiers began to appear in greater abundance and while the caravan was careful to keep their distance, Faramir could see that the Rangers were correct about the Haradrim being forced to conscript. Soldiers led new recruits towards the Belt and it made Faramir’s stomach hollow to see how young some of them were. They were no more than boys and Faramir worried that when the time came they would be little more than fodder to the seasoned warriors of Gondor, Rohan and the elves.

The Sanara Belt when they finally came upon it was indeed as fertile as promised. After seeing tracks of desert, hilly, mountainous terrain that was arid and unyielding, the sight of lush green fields and tall trees was something to behold. Upon seeing it, Faramir could well understand why it was called the heart of Haradwraith for the centerpiece of Haradrim culture lay against the banks of the great river, which was called Sanara.

It was clear however, even from the outskirts that the inhabitants of the belt were mobilizing for war. Along the route that led from the Splinter, Faramir and Pallando saw villages fortifying their positions, building clever traps for the impending invaders, creating barriers to protect their homes and arming themselves with weaponry. He could tell that many who were rushing to make these preparations had never been forced into such positions before because their efforts to wield weapons appeared ungainly and fledgling. Boys as young as their twelfth year were being provided with swords to protect their homes and through this growing awareness of war, came the whispers of fear that the First Born were coming to slaughter them.

The Haradrim army was also a looming presence in these communities, instructing its people as to the best ways to protect their villages and ward off the invaders when they finally reached the Sanara Belt. Faramir found it interesting to note that to the Haradrim it was not merely a matter of if they reached the Belt but rather when. A pall of inevitability rested over the land that incited some sensation of guilt within Faramir when he saw the fear in their eyes at the destruction that would ensure when Aragorn led the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the elves to the Belt. However, there was also the determination to fight at all costs, to defend their homes and their families against eminent slaughter.

The folk of the Sanara Belt were mostly farmers since natural irrigation from the great river had turned the hard ground into a loamy, aerated soil ideal for planting. In the Barrens, the primary crop grown was maize but within the Belt, barley, wheat rice and other grains that could be stored easily were grown. Since the fall of Barad-dur and the cessation of tributes that supplemented the Haradrim food supply, the burden had fallen upon the farmers of the Sanara to feed their people. However, with the advent of the drought, what grain the Barrens had been able to produce itself was savagely reduced and increased that burden had grown to almost intolerable levels.

The price of what food there was had risen so greatly that only morsels remained for those without wealth and as they moved deeper into the Belt, Faramir saw that many had been driven to the streets in order to beg for scraps. Roshal had stated that this was the way it had been since the Fall of the Ring and until Faramir witnessed it for himself, had not guessed how terrible the circumstance the Haradrim and most likely the Easterlings had found themselves with the end of Sauron. With the onset of war, the situation had become more desperate. While it grieved Faramir to think in such a manner, there was a part of him that could not deny that it would be best for everyone, if Gondor were in a position to force the Haradrim into accepting their aid.

There should be no contests of pride when there were people starving.

They arrived in Mahazar two days after entering the belt and its standing as the capital of Haradwraith could not be mistaken for it was in every sense a great city. With the Sanara running through Mahazar bringing travelers from Far and Near Harad who concluded their journeys in the heart of the city, the waterway was a colorful flotilla of boats. Some were pulled so closely together that the trade they brought with them could be conducted without stepping onto the shore. Merchants and peddlers sold their wares from their vessels as wealthy customers in small crafts of their own, skimmed the edge of this floating marketplace and made their purchases. Faramir tried to imagine the Anduin being used for such a purpose and could not even begin to imagine it and yet for the Haradrim, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

The rest of Mahazar comprised of buildings that were built relatively low to the ground and the architectural design favored most was its domed shape. Roshal explained that occasionally sandstorms blew in from the Barrens and these were of such intensity that they could cause significant damage to the buildings. Faramir who had grown to manhood in the White City, accustomed to seeing the Tower of Ecthelion holding the standard of Minas Tirith high above the city, swaying in the breeze was quite taken by the lack of tall buildings. There was only one structure of size in the whole of Mahazar, that could be seen from every corner in the city and that was of course the palace of the king. The descendants of Ulfang the Black had built it as homage to the lord they served and as Faramir took in the sight of it, he could not help thinking how much like Barad-dur it resembled. Though not as tall or constructed from adamant, it was still very imposing and made Faramir uncomfortable by looking at it.

One thing that Faramir did learn from Roshal of great value was that the Haradrim king had a  _name_.

He was called Dallanar Hasduri and had been a distant relation of Ulfrain when he had come to power. Of course, people had known of Dallanar before his ascension to the throne. Dallanar had begun his life at the edge of Haradrim territory, in what its people called the Sunlands. He had been the son of a minor noble and had never been considered as a serious successor to the throne. It was anticipated that Ulfrain and his wife would produce an heir and continue the line of kings. Dallanar distinguished himself as a great warrior when he arrived at Mahazar and for a time served under General Castigliari. However, when Ulfrain put forward the suggestion that the Haradrim accept the Reunified Kingdom’s offer of peace and grain, Dallanar had been one of the most vocal voices opposing this plan.

He was a charismatic leader, Roshal explained and when he spoke, it was easy to be swayed by his words. Thus when Ulfrain and Castigliari set out for Gondor, Dallanar’s words had already caused seething dissension within the ranks of the Haradrim leaders. Dallanar had reached the people, with his claims that in accepting the gift of grain from Gondor that would relieve their famine; they would be sacrificing their way of life to the race responsible for the destruction of their lord Sauron. Even whilst Ulfrain and Castigliari were at Gondor negotiating this peace, Dallanar was at home, inciting the Haradrim and meeting with Easterling leaders who shared the opinion that they ought to solve their troubles by the military conquest of the Reunified Kingdom.

When Castigliari returned home and informed the Haradrim people the alliance Ulfrain had forged with Morgoth’s shape shifters, Dallanar was quick to turn the situation to his advantage and accused the General of committing treason for the murder of his king. Ulfrain should have been brought home to face judgement by his people, not summarily killed by a Gondorian sympathizer. Castigliari and all his men were soon executed and the void left by Ulfrain and the lack of an heir to the throne shifted everyone’s attention to Dallanar, who was more than happy to accept the responsibility.

His rise to the kingship came with a hefty price since his first act was to announce the declaration of war against the Reunified Kingdom. However, almost every suspected that this had been Dallanar’s plan since Ulfrain and Castigliari departed from Mahazar. Circumstances had allowed the general to play into his hands and when Dallanar took the throne, he had done so legitimately.

Ironically, the coup he had planned had become unnecessary.

Shortly after their arrival at Mahazar, Faramir and Pallando slipped away from the company of Roshal and his family. The Prince was mindful at leaving behind a benefice of gold and the two dromas in the hopes that it would compensate the caravan potentate for his hospitality as well as soothe his anger at losing a potential son in law. Mahazar was a large enough city for the two men to become lost and as they disappeared into the night, Faramir could not help feeling grateful that they were now travelling on their own again, without the need for complication.

Or  _betrothal_.

"I hope you know how to buy dromas," Faramir remarked as they sat within the confines of a tavern, sharing a meal later that evening. "We will need them to return to the others."

Initially, Faramir had thought the tavern would be a small dingy place since its outside appearance certainly promoted the belief but inside, the floors were not stone but rather polished slabs of sandstone with short, stout chairs and cushions scattered about for seating. There was the stench of incense as men smoked their ornate pipes intermingling with the aroma of appetizing food and equally alluring spirits. Despite the poverty beyond the doors, the patrons were engaged in conversation, leering at pretty young women who served food behind their gossamer like veils and enjoying their meals.

"I have some experience," Pallando remarked taking a sip of his wine and raising a brow at its taste. Certainly not as strong as Gondorian ale, he mused to himself.

"I would like to go the palace at dawn," Faramir replied, as he cast his gaze across the room and rested upon the features of a man who was staring at him and Pallando. The man’s eyes seemed full of intent and Faramir lowered his voice further in the event anyone understood that he was speaking Westron. The man appeared familiar though how that could be was beyond the Prince’s ability to explain. "There will be enough light for me to make my observations but enough dark to vanish before I am seen."

"That is a good idea," Pallando agreed. "No doubt, the palace will be heavily guarded at times such as these."

It was true. Since entering the tavern where many had congregated to drink or to eat either with or without the company of others, Faramir and Pallando had overheard numerous conversations where it was revealed that the armies of the enemy were already nearing the Splinter, if not there already.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang and the lively chatter of the room fell silent as a trio of Haradrim warriors entered the room. The leader of them, paused at the doorway and swept his gaze across the room. Instinctively, Faramir’s hand slid under his elven cloak that had so far managed to conceal his terribly Westron sword from view. Pallando continued to drink, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred as the Haradrim captain rested his eyes upon Faramir.

Faramir cursed softly under his breath when he saw the captain maintaining his deep scrutiny. Had Roshal known what they were? Had the old man betrayed them? Faramir did not think so but neither could he allowed either of them to be caught. He remained frozen, waiting to see the outcome of the captain’s deep evaluation before he acted. Unfortunately, it appeared the man’s interest in him was not passing and he nodded at his two companions before striding towards their table.

"Remain calm," Pallando said knowingly, sensing that the reason for the man’s interest was not what they feared although it was no less perilous.

The Haradrim soldier paused before him and through the corner of his eyes, Faramir saw the other two approaching other men at their tables. Fear at being discovered quickly turned into confusion as the captain paused before him.

"You," the man stated gruffly. "How old are you?" He demanded.

"I am afraid my friend does not speak our language," Pallando quickly interjected. "He comes from the Sunlands."

"I do not require him to speak," the captain retorted glaring at him. "I am certain he understand well enough."

"What is it you wish of us?" Pallando inquired, hoping to avoid conflict if it was possible.

"Your friend is of age and appears healthy enough," the man looked over his shoulder before turning his eye back to Faramir once more, "he is needed for the service of the king."

"For the service of the king?" Pallando asked, stumbling in his thoughts a little at the strange answer.

"Yes," he nodded before glaring at Faramir, "considered yourself conscripted."

* * *

Legolas sat alone in his tent, unaware that day had turned into night and night had turned back into day.

He had returned to his tent after their disastrous meeting with Satarin and had issued orders for anyone who wished to see him to be sent away. To this degree his orders were carried out with question but Legolas noted that none of those who wished an audience were his friends. Upon entering the solitude of his tent, he had lowered himself to his chair and simply sat, his thoughts numb, his heart even more so. The memory of Aragorn’s eyes burned into his flesh like a branding iron, filled with accusation, holding only disbelief when he had pleaded his innocence. Aragorn’s eyes had burned as much as the boy’s dying gaze when Legolas had inadvertently taken his life.

From that moment, nothing had been simple and his heart had grown steadily heavier in his breast, until the weight of it was more than he could stand. He had left that house, his hands wet with the child’s blood after the frantic effort to revive him even though he had known the instant his blade had struck, that it was too late. The memory of what he had done dogged him and as he looked into the faces of those who had spilt blood with him at Axinar, he knew that they had cursed with demons of their own. Even Gimli, who had been at his side through many adventures stared at him with equally haunted eyes. He was not surprised to hear the dwarf had left even though he missed him greatly.

He had hoped that the shackles over his heart and soul would be freed when Aragorn would arrive. Their friendship had spanned sixty years, a lifetime, in human terms. Surely, Estel would understand. However, in truth, he secretly feared otherwise. Aragorn would never allow his emotions to do to him what Legolas’ own rage had forced the elf to do. He had never thought the disbelief of a human could hurt him as much as it had impaled his heart when Aragorn stared back at him following Satarin’s words. Even Eomer seemed to possess more compassion than Aragorn, whose eyes accused him even before Legolashad a chance to tell him the truth. Not that it had made much difference when he had because Aragorn did not believe.

In truth Aragorn did worse than not believe him, the king of Gondor had looked at him as if he were a  _murderer_.

Unfortunately, considering what he had done, Legolas had nothing to say that could refute that belief and had ridden away before Aragorn could see how much he was hurt.

  
So now he lingered inside his tent, accustoming himself to the fact that he would be alone in what needed to be done, no matter how brutal he was forced to behave, as he had done after the boy had been killed. His friends had not the stomach for what must be; and he who had crossed the line, who had gone too far to turn back, would spare them the moral dilemma by doing what they could not. For Melia, he would do this and even for Aragorn.

"Legolas," Haldir’s voice sliced through his thoughts at some undisclosed hour because Legolas had lost all track of time since entering his tent, aware only of its passage and little else.

"I  _said_  I did not wish to be disturbed," Legolas said coldly, not turning to look at him when Haldir paused at the entrance to the tent.

"The hour has passed for Satarin to give us his answer," Haldir announced, not about to be deterred for any reason.

Legolas snorted cynically, "that is hardly a surprise to me, Haldir."

"He has tendered his refusal to the terms of surrender with a warning that they will defend their city to the last man, no matter how long it takes," the march warden of Lorien added.

Legolas rose slowly to his feet. His heart hardened at Satarin’s words and knew that they had reached an impasse with the Cordoban leader that must be broken unless they wished to be mired in the taking of one fortress city when the whole of the Sanara Belt awaited them. For all it had cost him, his friends and his soul, he was not about to be robbed of his revenge because of one poisonous human. Satarin had ensured that Aragorn would never look at him again with anything but loathing and for that, Legolas intended to make the man pay.

"He is stubborn," Legolas declared making his way out of the tent for the first time in a day. The sunlight made him flinch with its glare after being in the dark for so many hours. "He hopes to delay us long enough for reinforcements to arrive from their capital city. We must act before they become too entrenched and impossible to dislodge."

"The Elfstone is giving them another day to safely remove their women and children," Haldir explained. "However I do not see that this will be done."

Legolas did not stop walking as he moved through the elven camp and arrived at wagons where their artillery weapons, redesigned by Gimli, had been languishing since their arrival in Haradwraith. "Nunaur!" Legolas called out to the captain of his guard who was speaking to a number of warriors nearby and motioned the elf to him.

"How long will it take for these weapons to be assembled?" Legolas asked when the elf reached him.

"In a matter of hours," Nunaur replied, confused at the question since no order had been given for attack and not anticipated until the following day at least.

"Good," Legolas nodded, "Haldir, as soon as the sun sets, I want you take a detachment to the river and find the best place to dam it."

  
Haldir’s reaction though subtle revealed his surprise. "Dam it?"

"Yes," Legolas replied with just enough edge in his voice to warn Haldir not to question him. "I want to ensure that the water they have, is  _all_  they will have. Do it under the cover of dark, I do not wish for you to be seen by Gondor or the Rohirrim."

"Does this not contradict the Elfstone’s orders?" Haldir asked deciding that he probably ought to know better but Legolas’ orders warranted the query.

"Who commands you?" Legolas turned to him sharply. "Aragorn means well when he should not. Satarin will not allow those women and children to leave when they know our concern for them will prevent us from attacking with as much force as we can muster for fear of harming them."

"And you mean to prove him wrong?" Haldir asked, his voice dangerous close to accusation.

"I will do what is necessary and so will you," Legolas stared at him. "You will take as many as you need under cover of dark and dam the river as I have ordered. Nunaur," the lord of Eden Ardhon turned to his captain, "I want those devices in place after dark. We will not use fire but we will use rock and stone. I will adhere to Aragorn’s wishes on that much at least."

"What of Gondor and Rohan?" Nunaur questioned, aware that his lord was contravening all the desires of their allies but could not bring himself to disobey.

"Once they see the attack is in progress and how far we have advanced, they will follow our lead," Legolas declared. "Of that I have no doubt."

Haldir was extremely disturbed by Legolas’ orders but like Nunaur, he served his master well and while he represented Lord Celeborn’s efforts in this war, he would have to regard Legolas as such. However, he was certain that while Gondor and Rohan may join their attack once it was underway, the kings of men would not be happy that they were forced into it.

"Haldir?" Legolas stared at him and the stranger that met his gaze was so far from the elf that had spoken to him kindly about his perceived affections for the Lady Melia. Haldir prayed that Gimli returned soon before Legolas descended so far into the abyss that not even Melia would be able to retrieve him from it.

"I will carry your order," Haldir found himself saying and hated himself for it.

* * *

For Gimli, son of Gloin, the journey across Haradwraith to Gondor seemed endless.

It had been felt interminably long when he had traveled in the company of the elf but alone, it was an ordeal that had almost forced him to throw down where he was and move no more. For weeks, his world had become an oblivion of one dune after another, one watering hole that appeared no different from the last and through it all, there was no one to speak to about any of these inconveniences. His pony, though a good listener, was a terrible conversationalist although after a few weeks alone, Gimli was no longer so particular. He knew that the mission entrusted to him was important and that thought alone forced him to continue.

Constantly preying upon his thoughts was how he would tell Melia what Legolas was doing.

She already blamed herself for more than she ought to regarding the death of the child Anna, to know that many others had been killed because of Legolas’ determination to avenge her would not please the lady at all. Gimli wondered how it was possible for Legolas to love Melia as he did and not realize that Melia would not condone the murder of innocents even if they were of the race that responsible for her violation. That was the trouble with elves, Gimli snorted in frustration, it was all their aspiration to achieve serenity and perfection that left them completely unable to cope with the little defeats. Not everything could be succeeded; not everything could be hard won with grace and skill.

Sometimes, the world simply was unfair.

As long lived as they were, Gimli truly believed the elves did not know this or if they did, chose to ignore it. Each time an elf was wronged, he embarked upon a crusade to eradicate the evil that was its cause, not realizing that evil was everywhere and sometimes its pursuit had the ability to twist the pure into the very thing they sought to destroy. Legolas was such an elf. He felt things too deeply and believed in the innate good of all even though he was no fool and had seen much darkness in his time. However, good and evil were very contrasting things for Legolas, and there were no in-betweens or the understanding that sometimes one had to accept the way things were.

When he finally saw the green hills that indicated the return to the familiar territory, Gimli was so overjoyed that he thought he might die from the satisfaction of it. Green trees with leafy branches, the smell of wet grass after the rain and the cool moisture of fresh loam; these were the things that reminded him of his homeland. He thought of his wife, waiting for him at home and wished there were time to see her but his mission was urgent and he could not afford the time, not when Legolas was in such dire need. He took the Harad Road into Ithilien, and was gratified to see the forest where Eden Ardhon was built had begun to restore itself. He paused for a day at the colony and found that some of the elves had returned with Thranduil’s assistance to rebuild. Melia however, remained in Minas Tirith.

He broke again at Emyn Arnen to take rest at the fortress of the Eastern Eye which was also rebuild after the Confederacy attack and thought the place felt empty without Eowyn’s presence. After resting for a day, he was off again and was grateful that his journey was at last nearing an end, as Minas Tirith became his next port of call. It felt good to be home in lands that he knew and wished that the elf and Aragorn were here with him. This business of travelling alone did not suit him well, but he supposed he ought to be grateful that he had learnt to ride, which hastened the journey somewhat.

The White City as always was a jewel in the distance that grew to encompass him the nearer he approached. Gimli rode into the city without fanfare and was permitted into the Citadel of Gondor without question, since their king had given orders early in his reign that members of the Fellowship would always be welcomed in his presence. The guards knew Gimli from his numerous visits and were more than happy that he brought news from their king who appeared to be faring well in the country of the enemy. Gimli saw no reason to tell them anymore about the progress in Haradwraith because terrible tales seemed to cross the land faster than the wind. He had no doubt it would be the same with the news of the massacres.

Arwen had feared the worst she heard of Gimli’s return to Minas Tirith. By her reckoning, there was very little that could tear the dwarf from the side of his friends during a battle unless the reason was compelling. Until he presented himself to her, both Arwen and Eowyn had entertained fears that perhaps one of their loved ones had fallen in battle. When he revealed that the reason for his return to Minas Tirith had little to do with such tragic news, each lady was filled with gratitude as well as relief that their husbands were alive and well.

"So why have you returned?" Eowyn looked at Gimli as they sat together in the parlor of the royal wing.

"I have come to see Melia," Gimli offered reluctantly, uncertain if he ought to reveal the reason for his return home.

"Is it Legolas?" She demanded, hating to think that Melia was going to be burdened with news that they had been spared.

Arwen noted the dwarf’s reluctance to speak and decided to spare him the effort since it would be a difficult enough subject when he brought it up with Melia. "It is alright Gimli," she said gently, "Melia is in her room. I will have one of the servants show you which one."

Gimli released a sigh and though Eowyn appeared to have more questions regarding the matter, she remained silent with the intention of them answered by Arwen when the moment was more appropriate.

"Thank you," Gimli nodded and hoped that the rest of the day would be as painless.

Somehow, he doubted it.

* * *

Since Legolas had left her alone, Melia, lady of Eden Ardhon had found herself in a curious state of being.

She knew that she had flesh and that beneath her breast, a heart beat periodically to keep her alive. She knew that occasionally her lungs needed air and that her body took up the duty of drawing it into herself on her behalf. There was no doubt in her mind that she walked in the physical world, not trapped in shadow like the Nazgul. When she spoke, her voice was heard and the world continued as it always had around her.

Melia knew all these things and yet with every fibre of her being, she could feel nothing.

Since Anna’s death and Legolas’ departure, Melia felt as if she was trapped in amber, unable to move, unable to think of anything except that terrible moment when she met the Easterling’s eyes and knew without doubt that Anna was going to die. It haunted her waking hours and tormented her sleep and the only one who could have made it better was far away, avenging her when what she needed most from him was his presence. Of course, she had said nothing to stop him because Legolas was enduring pain of his own and when he was determined, she knew that his will could move mountains. He needed to avenge her and she did not have the heart to make him stay when it meant so much to him.

Through the mire of numbness that consumed her whole, one thing was beginning to penetrate and its invasion into her safe refuge was becoming more and more insistent which each day that slipped past. Now along with the overwhelming numbness, was this nagging sensation that something was happening to her sweet prince, something that was reaching through the distance like tendrils of dark shadow. It was clawing its way towards her and Melia had found herself waiting for the moment when it was upon her.

When she heard Gimli’s voice at her door, she knew that moment had arrived.

"Gimli," Melia had regarded him as he entered the confines of her parlor. They exchanged warm embraces for he was family and there was no need for ceremony between them.

"You look well," Gimli said with genuine emotion as the memory of those terrible injuries inflicted upon her by the Easterlings surfaced briefly in his mind.

"I am in better stead then I was at our last encounter," she smiled aware that there was something on his mind that he was trying not to say. She bade him to sit and faced him waiting for him to sum up the courage.

"You did not ride all the way Minas Tirith without good reason," Melia stated, seeing no need for trivialities when she knew something was wrong. "Tell me Master Gimli, what has brought you to my door and do not fear what effect it will have upon me because I had suffered much worse of late."

  
Gimli was not so certain but was grateful that he could simply tell her since diplomacy was not his best trait and she needed to hear the truth in all its brutality if she was going to be of any help to her husband. "It’s the elf," Gimli replied. "He needs you."

Melia blinked slowly because in that one statement, everything was laid bare to her and needed no further explanation because the details could wait until they were underway. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough," Gimli answered softly wishing he had it in him to lie, but he did not. "He is almost a stranger."

Melia absorbed this news with silent contemplation and knew that Gimli had made the arduous trip across Haradwraith because she was possibly the only person who could reason with the Prince. At last the coldness she felt between them was explained. Their bond of love and flesh had kept them linked in a spiritual sense and of late, the beacon of his light had dimmed considerably. Now, she knew why. Rage was threatening to consume the gentle light of his soul and somehow Melia had to help him salvage it if she was to regain her own.

"We leave tomorrow at first light," Melia said meeting Gimli’s gaze.

"I will be ready," Gimli declared firmly. "We have a long way to travel."

 _Not as long as my prince’s_ , Melia thought silently.


	6. The Battle for Cordoba

****This was fast becoming the most unexpected covert mission he had undertaken in all his years as Ranger, Faramir thought to himself as he stared at the Haradrim captain who was determined to have him enlist in the Haradrim ranks. The irony of it did not escape him but neither did the urgency of the situation since it did not appear that refusal was possible without giving himself away. Unfortunately, he could not allow himself to become a conscript in the enemy forces either. Pallando's expression was one of concern when Faramir looked to him because the wizard was debating whether or not using magic in a room full of people would expose them as surely as allowing the Haradrim soldiers to take him into custody.

Around the room, Faramir saw the other two soldiers scouring the faces present with just as much scrutiny, no doubt searching for any eligible candidate, whether or not they were willing. The Rangers had claimed that conscription was taking place in the capital cities but even Faramir had not believed soldiers would be scouring the tavern and the streets for recruits in this manner. He supposed that after the battle of the Eastern Eye, such measures were necessary though he could not condone it.

"This is a mistake," Pallando spoke, attempting to reason with the man before they were forced to adopt more extreme measures to extricate themselves for this unfortunate turn of events. "My friend is not of Harad, he is a visitor from Rhun."

"The First Born are approaching the Belt fast," the Captain declared tautly at Pallando, impatient by this lack of cooperation and growing even more suspicious because Faramir was holding his tongue. "If they are allowed to defeat us here, they will seek out those in Rhun as well. Your friend will fight one way or another. We need all the men we can find to stop them before they reach Mahazar."

Faramir tightened his grip around his blade when he came to the sinking realization that they were going to have to fight their way out of this. If they could escape the confines of the tavern, they may be able to lose themselves in the darkness outside. Pallando noticed the subtle movement and alternatively clutched his staff with equal readiness.

"Enough discussion," the captain reached for Pallando when suddenly, the man whose gaze he had met earlier had suddenly appeared behind the Haradrim warrior.

The soldier stiffened suddenly, frozen in the spot as the new arrival lowered his lips to his ear.

"He does not wish to go," the warrior hidden mostly beneath a cloak said quietly.

Pallando looked behind the soldier and saw a cruel looking dagger being pressed firmly against his lower back. Should it break skin, it would be a fatal wound.

"How dare you..." the captain began to bellow in outrage when he jerked straighter at the knife being pushed harder against his skin.

"Quietly," the stranger hissed. "Now we will all take a walk to the door and if you attempt to signal your companions, I will kill you where you stand."

The Haradrim soldier's face twisted in anger but could do little to protest. "I think we should leave," the man gazed at both Faramir and Pallando, speaking in perfect Adûnaic.

For a moment, Faramir thought he had been mistaken in what he had heard because the language spoken by the stranger had not been used since the second age. It had been abandoned in favor of Westron or Common Speech and the only reason he understood it at all was because many of the ancient texts found in the library of the White Tower where he had spent much of his youth, were written in Adûnaic.

"How can we trust you?" Faramir demanded, his words escaping him somewhat stiltedly because he had to remember how to answer the stranger in Adûnaic.

"You do not have a choice," the stranger returned and immediately turned his attention to the captain, whom he had prompted into moving.

Faramir and Pallando exchanged brief glances before reaching the mutual agreement that their rescuer was quite correct, they did not have a good deal of choice. The other two soldiers were still engaged in their search throughout the tavern for more recruits when they suddenly noticed that their leader was departing. Faramir was poised to attack, aware that their discreet exit was about to become extremely prolific when one of them called out to the captain.

"Answer him," the stranger ordered.

"No," the captain shouted and made an effort to break away that cost him dearly. The blade slashed open his flesh and he fell to the ground, proving himself to be even more troublesome in death then he had been in life as all eyes turned to the growing melee in the room.

The remaining two warriors rushed forward as their captain tumbled to the ground but Faramir was ready to meet them with his sword. The Haradrim soldier swung first, perhaps not expecting a skilled match and Faramir saw the anxiety in his eyes when a Westron blade was brandished. Their weapons impacted hard against each other and had the Haradrim been wielding anything other than a scimitar, it was possible that Faramir's broadsword would have taken it apart. However, Faramir did not rely solely on the blade to overcome the enemy and when their swords drew them close, struck out his fist and caused the enemy to stumble. The opening was all he needed to impale the Haradrim through the chest. The man let out a short cry as the blade did his work, and Faramir had barely enough time to extract his weapon from the body when the second Haradrim warrior closed in for the kill.

"DROP!" Faramir heard the stranger shouting at him in that ancient tongue and promptly dropped to his knees in time to feel something flying above his head as he descended.

His head snapped upward when he heard the wet gurgle of a scream as the dagger that had ended the Haradrim captain's life, embed itself into the throat of the last remaining soldier. He stood up abruptly; unable to waste any time when their actions had more or less assured that this place would be swarming with soldiers when the authorities were alerted to what had taken place here. He turned towards Pallando who had struck down a patron who was about to intercede on the behalf of the soldiers. The wizard was retreating in his steps while the stranger had vanished out the door already, waiting for Faramir to join him.

"Where did he go?" Faramir asked as soon as he reached Pallando.

"Out there," Pallando declared as the two men left the tavern behind them. Their mysterious savior was awaiting them in the street and though it was quiet for the moment, neither Faramir nor Pallando were under the illusion that the actions in the tavern would not alter that state of events soon enough. He was standing in the middle of the paved road when they emerged, his body poised for attack as he removed his sword from beneath his cloak. It was not that different from a scimitar but seemed lighter and possessed more curvature in the blade.

"We need to get indoors," he declared.

"We will go nowhere with you until we know who you are," Faramir stated.

"Fine," the man turned around and started to walk up the street, "you can remain and be killed. Introductions are the least of our concerns at this moment. There are many soldiers roaming the streets at this hour, seeking new recruits who will not come willingly. I have risked my safety to help you. If you still question me after that, we have nothing left to discuss."

"Faramir," Pallando said quickly before their new companion was too far away. "I believe we can trust him and he is right, we cannot linger here in the open."

Faramir cursed under his breath because he had to concede the point that Pallando was correct. "Wait!" He called out after the stranger, who paused. "We are coming."

The warrior paused and met Faramir's gaze with a slight nod, "I am glad. It would have complicated my situation if you have not."

Faramir fell into stride next to him as they put more distance between themselves and the tavern. As they hurried to the end of the street, they could hear someone shouting into the night. The excited voice echoed into the darkness and seemed to race up the numerous streets and winding corners. Faramir did not understand the content but he did not doubt that he and his companions were its cause.

"Someone has called for the soldiers," Pallando revealed to no one's surprise.

Indeed, even as he made the statement, Faramir could hear the pounding of footsteps, not their own, gaining ascendancy through the stillness of the night. Voices jabbered into being and running feet grew in number and intensity. Lights were coming alive in darkened houses and Faramir knew that if they did not leave the streets immediately, it would not be long before their pursuers found them. Considering that he and Pallando were alone in enemy territory, he had no wish to fall into the hands of the Haradrim.

Their mysterious companion took a series of turns through the darkened street, leading them on a route that seemed maze like in its complexity. They would turn up an alley, hurry down a short flight of steps, emerge by the river and then descend steps along the river's edge to the collection of river vessels he had seen earlier that day. It appeared that their refuge was to be a boat and that suited Faramir well enough since it meant that if necessary, they had means to make a relatively safe departure from Mahazar. The vessel was not very large, possessing enough space enough to carry four people comfortably though any more would affects its balance severely. Judging by the mast and the long oar half submerged at its rear, Faramir guessed it was a sailboat.

"In here," he ordered, stepping onto the craft's deck. The boat dipped a little at the weight but steadied itself in due course. The men of the west followed suit and accompanied their host into the lower cabin.

The confines of the cabin were small but it was sufficiently comfortable for them to wait out the next few hours until the search for them had lessened in intensity. However, Faramir did not delude himself into thinking that he would be able to move freely in Mahazar after the events of the past hour. In Minas Tirith, the killing of three soldiers would be cause enough for a manhunt and Faramir had no doubt that this was what he and Pallando were in for.

However, the situation had been unavoidable and he was capable of taking comfort in that, if nothing else. His only regret was that the mission to gather intelligence was no longer possible. Right now, their only course was to leave Mahazar with their skins intact.

Their host illuminated the inside of the vessel with a small oil lamp and took a seat on one of the cushions scattered across the floor. He gestured at Faramir and Pallando to do the same and considering that the Steward of Gondor had many questions for the stranger, Faramir obeyed readily enough.

"Was I wrong to intervene?" The man asked after producing a carafe of green glass from one of the chests inside the cabin. He uncorked the bottle and took a deep swig of its contents before handing it to Faramir who was never one to refuse a drink when in the midst of discussion.

"No," Faramir shook his head after the strong liquid disappeared down his throat, leaving a healthy tang in his mouth. The prince handed the bottle to Pallando before continuing, "your help was appreciated. It would have been little more than a second before I reacted in kind."

"Good," he answered, genuinely pleased by that. "I had no wish to intervene but when I saw you in the tavern wearing that cloak, I guessed you had not come to Mahazar for enlistment."

"This cloak?" Faramir's brow arched in question, wondering what about it that was distinctive enough to give him away.

"It is elven made," the man stated. "It look rather worn but the style and cut left me no doubt as to the tailors. I have only seen one other cut in that fashion in my life."

"Who are you?" Faramir demanded. His patience was finally run dry and he wanted answers.

The man lowered the hood of his cloak and once again Faramir was struck by his appearance. He was undoubtedly an Easterling with his dark skin and brown eyes. He was no more than thirty, Faramir estimated. However, there was something about him that looked familiar that Faramir could not place, and it was fairly driving the Steward mad with distraction at being unable to discern why. Around his neck hung a simple chain of gold that held a curious looking pendant that seemed not merely decorative but held some significance by its intricate design. Until this moment, he noted how the man had kept it hidden within his clothes as if there were a secret behind it. However, when Faramir saw Pallando's eyes widen in surprise at the sight of it, the Prince of Ithilien suspected that secret was about to be exposed.

"Wizard, what is it?" Faramir asked.

"You are of the Bors," Pallando declared ignoring Faramir's question and addressing their companion directly.

"Bors?" Faramir asked, not recognizing the name.

"Yes," he nodded somewhat taken back by the recognition. "You have traveled in my country?"

"Not for many years," Pallando replied, "I do recognize the sigil however. I saw it when it was worn by Adumar."

"Adumar lived three hundred years ago," the younger man pointed out, his voice full of suspicion. "Are you flesh or spirit?"

"Flesh," Pallando answered, "but wizards have their way of preserving themselves. Faramir," Pallando turned to the Prince, aware that the young man was no doubt filled with many questions, "you wanted to be able to speak as representative of Gondor, now is the time. This is the High Chieftain of the Tribe of Bors who dwell in what we call the Sunlands. They are descended from the Easterling hero Bor, who with his sons Borthand, Borlac and Borlach, died in the service of Feanor's son in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears."

"Wait," Faramir stammered, attempting to cope with the information he was being assailed with. The Bors, he thought to himself. This explained why the stranger spoke in Adûnaic. When Bor and his sons had lived, that would have been the common tongue of men. If his descendants had been sequestered away in the Sunlands for all this time, they would have no idea that Adûnaic had been discarded in favor of Westron. However, the name was familiar to him for more than just its affiliation to the hero Bor. He had heard it more recently but where? Suddenly, it rose to the surface of his mind from the depths of memory and forced an exclamation of surprise from his lips. "Melia's people?"

"Yes," the High Chieftain nodded, "Melia is my kin. Her father was my uncle."

* * *

Aragorn could not sleep.

He lay on his bed thinking about everything that had happened since he arrived in Haradwraith and wondered if things would have been different if he had just sent Legolas back to Eden Ardhon when news had reached them of the eminent attack upon Lossarnach. It was entirely possible that they could have achieved the same victory without the aid of Legolas and his elves. It was Legolas' participation in the battle for Lossarnach that had led the Confederacy to the conclusion that the elves had chosen sides when all Legolas had done was aid an old friend. If Aragorn had done that, none of this would have come to pass and he would not lie here in his bunk, staring at the ceiling of his tent, unable to sleep.

 _Eomer_ _was right_ , Aragorn sighed to himself.  _I should have believed him._

It was not as if he were unjustified in thinking otherwise. Legolas' behavior in Haradwraith had been questionable to say the least. However the memory of how hurt Legolas had been when he realized Aragorn did not believe him was burned into the king's memory and had plagued him with guilt ever since. If Eomer who had been ready to trounce Legolas within an inch of his life for what he had done, could believe him then why could not Aragorn? Legolas had been his friend since he was a youth. The elf had been in his life in one way or another for the better part of sixty years, and they had shared more together than most brothers did in a lifetime. How many impetuousness mistakes had he made in his youth for which Legolas had forgiven him?

More than enough to give Legolas his support when the elf had needed it.

There was no point in tormenting himself about what he did or did not do tonight, Aragorn decided. Tomorrow, he would find the elf and make amends and perhaps if Legolas knew he did indeed have Aragorn's faith, he may be capable of seeing reason. With this thought settling into his mind, Aragorn felt some of the tension easing from him and sleep came quickly upon its heels, lulling him into a much-needed slumber. His consciousness was already beginning to fray when suddenly a tremendous explosion of sound reconstructed his alertness with extreme speed.

Aragorn almost fell off his bunk at the detonation of noise and in the mad scramble to get to his feet, he heard a groundswell of reaction to it from the rest of the camp as men were roused from their sleep in the same abrupt manner. He had risen to his feet and was preparing to run out of the tent to investigate, when he was halted in mid step by another burst of shattering sound. Once again, it had caught him by surprise and as he hurried out his tent grabbing Anduril on the way, Aragorn saw that he was not alone in that respect.

"Are we under attack?" He demanded.

No one answered because no one knew for certain.

The camp was in pandemonium and the stillness of night, which had been all pervading a short time ago was well and truly banished in favor of mass excitement. Soldiers some dressed fully in mail, others attempting to do so were rushing towards the source of the noise. Small torches had been lit everywhere, illuminating the darkened plain that was the site for their encampment. Aragorn joined his men as they ran past the collection of tents when a third burst of sound heard. This time, listened closely and knew immediately that what caused it was not an explosion like he had heard at Helm's Deep. No, this was the sound of rock smashing against rock.

And it had come from the direction of Cordoba.

Aragorn reached the edge of the camp and found his men had halted in their steps to stare at the city in the distance. Their expressions of shock were coupled with murmurs of confusion as Aragorn witnessed the scene, he could well understand the reason for their bewilderment. He himself took in the sight of what was unfolding before him with a growing sense of outrage and cold fury. Had he only a few minutes ago thought that there might be a way to breach the gulf between himself and Legolas? Aragorn cursed himself because he should have known the elf would resort to this. Why would he not when Aragorn's lack of faith in his innocence had given him leave to think that he nothing left to lose?

The plain between the encampment and the city was filled with elven warriors, some on foot but most on horseback. Arrows were flying through the air as the trebuchets, all fully assembled, continued their assault upon the city walls. The devices were flinging great boulders of rock, transported there by wagons, against the great doors of the fortress. The impact created a growing pile of debris and was causing considerable damage to the wood. A continuous assault upon it would buckle them in a matter of hours if not sooner and the Cordoban soldiers positioned on the fortress walls, trying desperately to halt their progress with a barrage of arrows, were more than painfully aware of this.

"What has he done?" He heard Eomer demand as the Rohirrim king ran to his side. Eomer had been caught just as unaware as the rest of the camp and was in the process of fastening the buttons of his shirt when he reached Aragorn.

"He has laid siege to Cordoba," Aragorn answered in a low voice filled with smoldering rage, "against my orders and against my assurances to Satarin that we would not attack."

"Against your orders?" Eomer exclaimed in shock, unable to believe that the elf had gone  _this_  far. It was bad enough that he had caused numerous massacres throughout Haradwraith and given their army the reputation of bloodthirsty killers. However, even Eomer did not think him capable of flouting Aragorn's authority by calling this attack when it was Aragorn's wish to allow the women and children of Cordoba safe passage from their city before the onset of the fighting.

"Against my orders," Aragorn repeated himself, watching the assault continue and surmising that Legolas' plan was to create an opening through the doors before sending the elven cavalry through. Archers were assembled, trading arrows with the defenders on the wall, with fatalities on each side mounting. The Cordobans were suffering the worst of it though, and did not appear capable of mounting a prolonged defense if the intensity of the attack continued.

"So what shall we do?" Eomer asked, terribly aware of the menace and fury bubbling beneath the surface of Aragorn's restraint manner. He kept his own disgust at Legolas' behavior to a minimum certain that the situation was incendiary enough without fanning the flames further. No doubt when this day was done, the king of Gondor and the Lord of Eden Ardhon would have much to say to each other.

Aragorn felt silent as his gaze remained fixed on the elves before him, their faces dimly lit by the torches carried by some. He could not see Legolas but had no doubt that the elf was among the archers, sending a phalanx of deadly projectiles towards the wall. The attack was underway and there was no stopping it. If Aragorn were to force the elves to withdraw now, they would not only look like fools before the enemy but would also allow the word to spread that the armies of the west were easily divided and incapable of mounting a coordinated offensive. If he joined the battle, his authority would be undermined before everyone, including the soldiers under his command.

However, they were in enemy territory, where it was necessary to have every advantage. The behavior of the elves of late was not lost upon his men so the injury to his authority would be slight especially if Aragorn ensured that a situation like would not occur again, and by Elbereth it was not going to. He had not thought Legolas would risk their friendship to achieve his own ends in this manner but Aragorn supposed he had shown the elf how just much value he had in their friendship when he refused to believe that Legolas was innocent of murdering that child in cold blood. Legolas most likely believed he had already lost Aragorn’s friendship and had little to lose by this action.

"We will join him," Aragorn said quietly after a lengthy pause. "This attack has started and forcing them to withdraw will not alter the fact that we have broken our word. The stain of this will not be washed away no matter what we do so it is best that we salvage what we can. As loathsome as what he has done, Legolas appears to be concentrating the assault on the entrance to the fortress, not the city within. That tells me that he is at least making an attempt to limit the casualties. With our assistance, our numbers can end the fighting quickly and further aid in that effort."

"My men at least will be happy for the battle," Eomer frowned, not liking the way they had been forced into it but unable to refute the sensibility of Aragorn's statement. He remembered Legolas' earlier threat of using fire and was grateful that the elf had shown some restraint in that regard. Still, he had undermined them both before their armies and that was not a slight easily forgiven. However, at present, pride was the least of their worries. "If he succeeds in creating an opening, we can ride in there and deal with the enemy quickly."

"He will," Aragorn said sourly, "if that is his intention, nothing will stand in his way of it becoming a reality."

As Eomer glanced at Aragorn, he sensed the king of Gondor was not speaking about Cordoba's walls.

* * *

It would have been so easy to direct his elves to show no mercy but Legolas was vaguely conscious after he had set the attack in motion that he had crossed a line in his friendship with Aragorn and this time, it was not so easy to ignore. It was one thing to widen the gulf between them as friends but quite another to do so to one’s allies. He could see the anxiety in the faces of his elven brothers and knew that they were aware that he was ordering to attack against the desires of their human comrades. However, like any disciplined army, they obeyed their commander without question and set out to accomplish the task he had set them.

Standing on the field of battle with the rest of the archers, Legolas cast his gaze towards the Gondorian and Rohirrim camp, anticipating that the humans would soon be joining their efforts against Cordoba. The instant the first rock hurled against the fortress walls met its mark; they would be awakened by the noise. Inwardly, Legolas braced himself for the inevitable confrontation with Aragorn, thinking up of all the things he would say to justify his position. Hours ago, when he had set these events upon their course, he had been flamed by anger and feelings of betrayal. Perhaps it was with Aragorn's sensibilities in mind that he had issued the order that they concentrated on breaking through the entrance of the fortress instead of burying the city beneath a pile of debris.

Meanwhile, the elven cavalry had taken up flanking positions, ensuring that they remained concealed by the darkness that stretched across the plain, broken up only by the occasionally torch that illuminated very little of its wide expanse. It becoming painfully clear that a skeleton force had been left behind in Cordoba while the bulk of its soldiers had been ordered to the Sanara Belt to protect the capital cities when the inevitable war machine of Gondor, Rohan and the elves reached it. The Cordobans were rallying an admirable defense but even this early in the battle; Legolas estimated that they would not be able to hold out for very long. He had assumed that the siege would last days and had sought to cut off their water supply, a vital resource in a climate such as this, by the obstruction of the river a process that would have taken at least two days to complete. However, this was now a redundant measure because they would take the city by daybreak.

If they truly desired it, they could march up to the fortress and attempt to scale its walls now, but that strategy would come soon enough and Legolas was in no particular hurry. The archers were reducing the enemy numbers sufficiently enough that when they chose to storm the fortress walls, there would not be enough soldiers to stop them. He would allow no elf to fall unnecessarily in this wretched land if it could be avoided. The enemy was being forced into a corner, and Legolas was poised for the moment because it was then that Cordoba would fall.

It was not long before the armies of Gondor and Rohan joined the battle, with the Rohirrim taking their place at the side of the elves, while Gondorian archers added to the barrage of the arrows flying through the air. He could hear orders being dispatched throughout the battle line as he withdrew from his place among his men, certain he would need to explain himself to Aragorn and Eomer when they finally sought him out. The trebuchet continued to bombard the entrance to the fortress with unrelenting precision and fissures, visible only to the keen eyes of elves, appeared across the arch of the doors. The sandstone was hard but crumbled easily under heavy assault.

Stepping away from the line, he saw Aragorn approaching him. The king of Gondor was alone and Legolas assumed that Imrahil and Eomer were elsewhere on the line, directing their forces for the assault that they had been forced to wage tonight. Aragorn's expression was unreadable as their eyes made contact and once again, Legolas had the sense that he had crossed the line. When he had issued his orders to Nunaur and Haldir earlier, he had done so with the fire of rage and disappointment in his veins. He had been so angry and hurt that Aragorn had not believed him that Legolas had felt he had nothing left to lose by following this course. Now as he saw Aragorn storming towards him, Legolas realised he was wrong.

"Aragorn," Legolas greeted.

Aragorn's gaze shifted momentarily to the thunderous sound of another boulder shattering against the great doors of Cordoba, intermingling with the sound of cracking wood.

"I do not think that the doors will hold for another hour," Aragorn stated coldly. "There are not enough of them to hold us back if we chose to scale the walls."

The king's business like tone shook Legolas' poise somewhat because he had expected Aragorn to express his outrage at how Legolas had undermined his authority. However, the elf was seldom caught off balance for very long and he recovered enough to express his reaction to Aragorn's statement.

"I think you are right," Legolas agreed but was more interested in attempting discern what thoughts were running through Aragorn's mind.

"I think we should move now," Aragorn replied, "they are stretched to breaking point already. We should storm the walls now. The doors will not hold long and when it is breached, they will have to deal with us as well as the horsemen. Once that takes place, the city is lost."

"We should move the rankers into position then," Legolas suggested because Aragorn's assessment of their situation was sound.

"Imrahil is carrying out the order even as we speak," Aragorn returned tautly as Legolas looked past him saw the soldiers of Gondor taking up positions of support near the archers, both elven and human alike. Aragorn wondered if Legolas had any idea how much restraint he was using to contain his emotions. It would be so easy to let it spill over and vent his fury upon the elf, but to do so would not only widen the rift between them but would also cause dissension between their two armies.

"Aragorn," Legolas finally relented, unable to endure the indifference Aragorn was displaying in regards to what he had done. It would be so much easier to have his best friend shout at him, or even strike him since Aragorn was more than justified in doing so. For the first time in his life, Legolas knew what it was to be on the receiving end of an aloof mask revealing nothing and could understand why it used to inspire Aragorn's annoyance when he could not discern what the elf was about.

"Say nothing," Aragorn said sharply, guessing what Legolas intended to say and truly did not wish to hear, not now. "This is not the time for discussion. We cannot turn back now that you set us upon this road but since our course is set, willingly or no, I would rather focus my thoughts on winning the day. Anything else either of us may have to say to each other can wait until after Cordoba had fallen."

There was finality to his words that shook Legolas to the core. He had known Aragorn for nearly a human lifetime but the rage behind the king of Gondor's eyes as he made that taut statement was something Legolas had not seen before and it unsettled him.

However, it was not as unsettling as knowing that his desire for vengeance may have cost him his best friend.

* * *

Aragorn was proved right.

When one of the doors showed signs of collapse under the relentless assault of the trebuchet little more than an hour after their discussion, the response was swift. Cordoban warriors retreated from the wall, racing to brace the doors and giving both Gondorian and elven rankers' opportunity to advance. Supported by a barrage of arrows from their archers, the soldiers of the west crossed the distance quickly; carrying ladders and ropes to scale the walls after long last. They moved towards the fortress like the tide rolling into the shore. The defenders of Cordoba, realizing the opening they had given the enemy rushed to the walls in order to defend it against the tide, but it was too late.

Ladders were soon propped up against the fortress as Gondorian and elven warriors scaled the walls to be greeted by Haradrim soldiers. The Cordoban defense was weak, owing to the division in their forces as they scrambled to keep the invaders out of the city while attempting to maintain the barricade that was buckling under the assault by the trebuchet. In the meantime, the Rohirrim and elven cavalry, under the lead of Eomer, waited in the darkness for their moment to act. The barricades against the doors were holding but briefly.

The efforts to reinforce the waning strength of the doors were being thwarted by the smashing of rock against wood.

Despite the roar of battle being so great that it drowned out the shattering noise of rocks impacting against wood and the stone archway, Aragorn though he could hear when the wood buckled under the barrage. As he led his men in the scaling of the fortress walls, he saw one of the enormous doors finally succumbing to the relentless battering of rock. Large fractures tore through the wood and finally buckled inward. Splinters and stray shards sprayed in all directions as its descent tore the rusted hinges from its moorings in the wall and aided with the collapse of the archway. The sound seemed to rise above the pitched noise of battle, as if it were signaling to all the turning point in the course of the fighting.

Debris buried the soldiers unable to get clear in time and those who remained standing after the dust had settled were clearly aware of what a devastating blow this was to their defense. They retreated deeper inside the structure, probably in preparation of the next wave, which would come soon now that they were wide open to the enemy. It was a valid assumption because no sooner than the way had been opened inside the fortress, Aragorn heard the Rohirrim cry to charge. The voice faded into nothingness, and was followed the low rumble of pounding hoof beats against the ground, growing momentum as they closed in on the newly made fissure in Cordoba's formidable fortress.

Aragorn climbed up the ladder, now that the cavalry was unleashed upon Cordoba, hoping that with their arrival, the battle would be ended swiftly. In truth, he saw little pleasure in their eminent victory. There was little glory to be derived from the defeat of an enemy who never had a change. Unfortunately, the necessities of sound strategic planning required that Cordoba was to be taken. There was no way to know with absolute certainty that the fortress did not house a sizeable enemy force capable of hindering their progress into the Splinter without testing themselves against it. Legolas' actions, while still objectionable in every way, had answered this for them once and for all.

He reached the top of the ladder and saw a Haradrim warrior coming at him with a scimitar the moment he stepped upon the wall. Aragorn met his blade with Anduril, feeling the impact of steel against steel all the way to his teeth. His parry was return with a sharp riposte and the weight of the elven sword against the lesser-made weapon forced his opponent back before Aragorn concluded their duel with a sharp thrust through his abdomen. The Haradrim let out a scream as Aragorn retracted his blade, having little time to notice what had become of him because from the corner of his eye, the former Ranger could sense a presence.

He swung around to see another soldier coming at him and deflected the blow that would have sliced open his belly if he had acted a fraction slower. His new opponent would not be deterred however, and lunged once more, putting more determination in his efforts to end the life of the Westron invader. Aragorn stepped skillfully out of his reach and planted a boot in his back as he slipped by. Shoving him hard, the enemy tumbled to the ground unceremoniously, his weapon falling from his grip. As his hand scrambled for the weapon, Aragorn moved in for the kill when the Haradrim turned around and parried the blow that would have cleaved his heart in two.

For the first time, Aragorn had opportunity to meet his attacker's gaze as he defended himself against a skilful riposte. He soon understood why, because the light of the torches along the length of the wall illuminated the features of the enemy he was fighting, and Aragorn had to look twice before he realised that he knew whom he was facing

"Satarin?" Aragorn exclaimed.

"Is this your way keeping your word, king of Gondor?" He demanded as he smashed his blade against Aragorn's with more determination. He spat the words like weapons and Aragorn could not fault his accuracy because Satarin did salt the wounds of his injured pride.

"This did not come about at my choosing," Aragorn replied as he blocked the blow easily and shoved Satarin backwards. "You had ample opportunity to surrender. Would another day make a difference to your decision? I think not!"

"I will not yield my city to you and your pack of elven butchers!" Satarin's rage made his strikes wilder and Aragorn saw an opening that could end their bout quickly. With a sharp thrust, the blade slid into his shoulder and Aragorn thought that it might convince the older man to yield. Satarin groaned in pain as he dropped to his knees, his face a rictus of pain as Aragorn pulled Anduril from his flesh.

"How this battle came about is no longer important," Aragorn declared, attempting one last time to convince the man of his peaceful intentions, "what is important that we wish no harm to your people. What happened at Axinar was a mistake, surely you must know by now that it was not our intention to have our allies conduct themselves in such a manner. What bloodshed was spilled cannot be undone but we will prevent it from recurring again. However, it is very difficult to argue the case when you are so stubborn!"

Satarin's eyes narrowed, "your words have no weight with me," he hissed. "You word is like your attempts at peace, a lie."

With that Satarin produced a curved dagger from within his folds and thrust it deep into Aragorn's thigh. The king of Gondor felt the blade spear through his leg and uttered a sharp cry of pain before reacting instinctively. Anduril sliced through flesh, blood and bone in one well-delivered swing and Satarin's head

spun in the air before it joined his toppled torso, soaking the sandstone in a crimson pool.

Aragorn staggered to the edge of the wall, feeling the warmth coursing out of his leg. He wrapped his hand around the bloody hilt when he felt an arm sliding around him in support.

"Sire, you are hurt!" Beregond, Captain of Ithilien exclaimed as he stared at the dagger protruding cruelly from his king's leg.

"I am fine," Aragorn grunted, "help me somewhere out of the way so I can remove this accursed thing."

"As you will, my lord," the younger man nodded although a quiet place in this melee was a questionable proposition at best. The only place that seemed suitable enough was a corner of the wall but the sight of the king's injury had ensured that Beregond was not alone in his assistance of the king. The people's love for Aragorn the king bordered on near adoration, especially among the soldiers of Gondor who still considered the return of the king as their country's finest hour. Thanks to Aragorn' arrival, a wave of hope had swept through the kingdom which had allowed them to gain victory against their enemies. For the soldiers of Gondor, who had endured the worst of Sauron's assaults upon the kingdom, there was not one among them who would not willingly die for the king.

Once Aragorn was in what was a marginally safe place, Aragorn the king vanished so that the healer could take charge. Even though he preferred dispensing the treatment to someone else, he supposed that he was lucky to be able to treat himself under such circumstances. Three soldiers were gathered around the king, creating a protective barrier around him so that his wounds could be dealt with. In truth it would be Aragorn who would tend to himself but he did need Beregond for the hardest task of all.

"Remove the knife," Aragorn instructed as he unfastened the belt around which Anduril's scabbard was attached.

"Are you certain?" The former soldier of Gondor and Faramir's chosen captain of the guard looked at Aragorn with concern.

"This is not the time to be squeamish," Aragorn said meeting his gaze momentarily, before returning to the business of removing the scabbard from the leather. As he saw Beregond steel himself to carry out the task, Aragorn placed the leather in between his teeth and bit down. Beregond drew a deep breath and placed his hand upon the bloody handle. His eyes clamped shut when he pulled the blade from Aragorn's flesh and caused his king to spasm in pain, his teeth sinking deep into the leather.

Aragorn was breathing hard when the blade was tossed aside. The pain was considerable but no more than he had received in the past and there had been so many bruises, wounds, cuts and scrapes that they all seemed to lose its definition after a time. Beregond, whom he had seen fight like a man possessed actually appeared quite faint, forcing a little smile from the king.

"Are you alright?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes," Beregond nodded, still appearing a shade grey.

"Good," Aragorn said with a slight grunt as he leaned forward and examined the injury. Fortunately, the blade had not pierced the artery, which was what Aragorn had feared. It appeared that he had suffered little more than a flesh wound though the pain was considerable, Aragorn knew that he could cope with it and return to battle after a short rest. He swept his gaze across the wall and saw that the Cordobans had abandoned it as more and more elven and Gondorian soldiers flooded the area.

"Elfstone," Haldir suddenly appeared out of nowhere as elves only could, "you are hurt."

"Not badly," Aragorn grunted with a strained breath as he continued to bind his wound with a belt and some of the athelas he kept stored in a pouch on his person whenever he went to battle. His habits as a healer died hard. "I will survive. Where is your master?"

He saw Haldir flinch at the reference to Legolas being his master and supposed that all was not well in the elven camp. "I do not know," Haldir replied, "I believe he is leading the charge into the rest of the city."

"You find him and tell him that I want no one harmed needlessly," Aragorn said firmly, "there has been altogether too much bloodshed this day."

The memory of Satarin's words still plagued him and he had no wish to have the former leader of Cordoba proved correct that the elves were indeed butchers. Legolas had asked for his faith and Aragorn had failed him, no doubt precipitating his decision to embark upon this attack, despite Aragorn's word to the Cordobans. While he would not assume that Legolas would embark upon the same course as he had in Axinar and the other Haradrim villages, he could not take the chance of it either.

* * *

The cavalry crossed the plain once the opening was created with Eomer leading the charge.

Despite the circumstances of this engagement, Eomer could not deny that it was good to ride into battle, where the enemy was clearly defined and the politics of the events that had led them to this moment in time was forgotten for now.

Ahead of them, Cordoba waited to be taken and though Eomer was never one to enjoy the needless bloodshed of any race, he could not help feeling a little biased when he thought of how these Haradrim king had manipulated the attacks on Edoras. Of course, his dislike was nothing in comparison to the intensity possessed by Legolas Greenleaf and even if Edoras had fallen under attack, Eomer could never justify the murder of innocents.

The cavalry neared the entrance of the fortress in good time and as they closed in on the opening, Eomer raised his hand and issued the signal to close ranks into sets of three. When it was agreed that the elven riders would join their ranks in battle, Eomer's first order of business was to teach the First Born, the appropriate signals used by the Rohirrim éoreds when they rode into battle. It was a lesson worth the trouble for he saw elves and humans alike, closing ranks as they formed three to a line. The opening would allow for no more and Eomer had no wish to cause a bottleneck by forcing too many riders through at once.

The King of the Mark was one of the first through the entranceway and saw the rider next to him tumble when an arrow struck him in the chest. Eomer immediately dropped low, aware that there was a group of archers defending the opening from the approaching cavalry. He felt the wisp of displaced air as another arrow flew past his ear, striking the sandstone wall before dropping impotently to the floor when the point failed to penetrate the hard surface. Eomer stared at the edge where the archers were carrying out their barrage of arrows and rode past a spear that was imbedded in the ground. The King of the Mark reached for the weapon and yanked it from the ground. There was still blood on it when Eomer took careful aim and threw.

The weapon sliced through the air and extracted a blood-curdling cry from one of the archers whose body it impaled with sickening finality. Eomer saw the enemy tumble forward, the spear still protruding from his body when he landed on the sandy ground. The King of the Mark forced his horse to move deeper past the destroyed entrance, riding towards the soldiers on foot who had fallen into square and were holding their long spears before them in phalanx. He counted little more than twenty of them assembled in this manner and while he admired their strategy because forming square was the only means of defending against a cavalry attack, there was not enough of them to maintain the defense for very long

"Phalanx!" He shouted, giving the warning to those behind him. "Bowmen!"

Eomer reached for his bow and immediately began the assault upon the assemblage with arrows instead of the sword that had been replaced within its scabbard. His horse circled the group of soldiers, valiantly defending the fortress and themselves as Rohirrim and elven arrows met their mark with deadly accuracy.

Sheer numbers were overwhelming them, with arrows traded back and forth by the invaders on horseback and the Cordoban archers coming to the aid of their comrades on the ground. From various points along the wall, arrows and spears met flesh with shocking finality. With the square being dealt with by a portion

of his riders, Eomer continued along the walls of the fortress, making short work of the soldiers that had abandoned the wall when the Gondorian rankers had become too much for them.

The Rohirrim maintained their pursuit, aware that Aragorn had wanted to keep them from entering the city and bringing the battle to the women and children who were taking refuge here. He saw a soldier coming at him with a spear and swung his blade to drive him off when the sword knocked the helmet from his face. For a moment, Eomer froze as he looked down and saw on the ground, staring at him with blood and dirt smeared across his face was a boy of no more than thirteen if that. His eyes met the Rohirrim king with utter terror and the scimitar in his hand dropped to the floor with a loud noise when his courage failed him.

For a moment, Eomer thought the boy might weep in fright but instead; he swallowed, closed his eyes and waited for the enemy to strike the killing blow.

Eomer felt sickened to the stomach and lowered his weapon as his eyes swept across the scene of the battle and particularly at the phalanx that they were cutting down. The Haradrim were physically a smaller people than the men of the Westernesse and he had not made the connection before. However, as he now placed them under deeper scrutiny, he realised that the phalanx were mostly comprised of soldiers with lanky, undeveloped frames, hidden beneath oversized armour. The situation in Cordoba must have been more desperate than anyone of them had believed. Suddenly it made sense that Satarin had spoken with such vehemence and refusal to entertain any idea of surrender, especially when his forces were so depleted that a bluff was all he could manage in the place of seasoned troops.

"Get out of here," Eomer hissed under his breath.

The boy stared at him in confusion not comprehending his words or the language in which it was spoken.

"GO!" Eomer kicked out his foot and sent the boy sprawling.

The boy fell backward as Eomer pulled the reins of his horse to leave the scene. He would not be the killer of a child who had no business fighting in the first place.

It was a noble sentiment but one that proved in error when suddenly, he felt a burst of exquisite pain and saw the point of spear tearing its way through his flesh and penetrating the mail across his chest. He opened his mouth to cry out but could not speak because it was soon filled with blood. Looking over his shoulder through the haze of his pain, Eomer saw the boy he had spared looking at him with relish after spearing him through the back.

"EOMER!" He heard a voice shout at him and saw another rider approaching, swinging his blade in a precise strike that killed the boy where he stood.

Eomer could barely focus when he saw Imrahil's face appear bore him, the older man staring at him in shock and dismay.

"I think I am hurt," Eomer muttered softly but his words escaped him in a gurgle.

"Rohirrim!" Imrahil shouted to no one in particular, "the king has been injured!"

Imrahil closed the distance between them, sidling his horse next to Eomer's as the king struggled to stay on his feet. The spear remained cruelly embedded through Eomer's body and Imrahil did not know whether or not he ought to remove it because it could very well be the only thing keeping the king from bleeding like a stuck boar. Erkenbrand, lord of the Westfold reached them first and curbed his horror at seeing his king in such as state by grabbing the reins of Eomer's horse while Imrahil kept him from tumbling out of the saddle.

"We must get him to the surgeon," Imrahil declared as he maneuvered himself into the saddle with Eomer, not an easy process considering the king of the Riddermark had a large spear impaled through his body. Eomer, by this point, was losing consciousness swiftly and sagged forward, almost falling off when Imrahil caught him. "I will take him there but you must tell Carleon that he now leads the Rohirrim."

"I will," Erkenbrand nodded and handed the reins to Imrahil who had difficulty reaching it. "Commend him safely."

"I will," Imrahil nodded as he dug his heels into the flanks of Eomer's horse, "I have no intention of allowing my daughter to become a widow."

* * *

The fighting had moved to the city.

Legolas had crossed the battlefield with the king of Gondor at his side. After Helm's Deep, the Battle of Pelennor and the Black Gate, they had become too accustomed to being at each other's side in battle to permit their present differences to interfere with this tradition. Unfortunately, once they had reached the fortress, it was an entirely different matter as Legolas lost sight of Aragorn in the sea of bodies making their way up the wall by means of ladders and ropes. Legolas himself had entered Cordoba in more or less the same fashion. He had scaled the walls of the fortress and fought his way through the guardians defending it with a contingent of elves that included Nunaur.

The battle was swift and it was not long before the Cordobans were overwhelmed and driven off the wall. The retreating forces also had to contend with the flooding of Rohirrim and First Born cavalry through its gates and Legolas was confident that by the time dawn broke, the city would be theirs. However, it soon appeared that the Cordobans would not surrender easily despite their dwindling numbers. Driven off the wall and becoming savagely culled by the cavalry, they took the only course left to them, the course Aragorn had prayed they would not.

They took the battle into the heart of the city where the women and children were hiding.

There had been little recourse but to follow them and soon the back streets, the squares, the shops and homes became the focus of the fiercest fighting. There was nothing clean about killing in full view of women and children and as he and many of his comrades were soon discovering, not all of the opponents clad in mail and armed with scimitars were soldiers. Satarin, in an effort to show the enemy that the fortress was adequately garrisoned, had dressed every available man in mail and when there were no more, had resorted to using boys. After what had happened in Axinar, the thought of killing children repulsed him to no end and doing so would only prove that Satarin was right when he accused Legolas of being a murderer.

And he was not.

With Nunuar at his side, Legolas pursued a number of Haradrim soldiers into front walk of one of the city's man mud brick homes. They rounded the corner and saw that the enemy prepared to make a fight of it. The Haradrim were easily overtaken by the two elves and the skirmish lasted briefly before all of them lay dead at the feet of Eden Ardhon's lord and its captain.

"We should get back to the others," Nunaur suggested as he prodded the soldiers on the ground to ensure that they were no longer a threat.

"I have not seen Aragorn or Eomer and that concerns me," Legolas confessed.

Despite all that had transpired between them of late, the humans were still his friends and mortal life was so fragile that Legolas could not help but concern himself at how they fared in the battle.

"I am certain they are well," Nunaur commented and left the bodies to follow him when suddenly the door to the house they were walking past burst open behind the captain of Eden Ardhon. The elf had heard sounds but disregarded them anticipating that they probably belonged to a frightened family trying to sit out the battle. Nunaur turned around just in time to be run through with a sword. He let out a soft cry as he dropped to his knees, forcing Legolas to stare in open mouth horror as his loyal friend and subject died before his skull could slap against the ground when he fell.

"NUNAUR!" Legolas fairly screamed in anguish.

Legolas ran forward and swung his blade with far more skill than the person who had ended the life of Nunaur, son of Elwe, who had been his father's servant since Thranduil's earliest days in Eryn Lasgalen. It was Nunaur who had taught Legolas how to shoot a bow and had schooled him in the woodland art of stealth and tracking. Centuries of knowledge, skill and experience were now bleeding into the dirt, soaking in the earth to be forgotten. Nunaur had wanted to see the world and now all he would ever see was the grey of Mandos. With an outraged cry, Legolas' swipe against the enemy blade tore the weapon from the murderer's hands, sending it clattering aside noisily. Slamming the person against a nearby wall, Legolas raised his sword to strike when suddenly, a voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Do not hurt my mother please!" A plaintive voice cried in anguish.

Legolas blinked and saw the little girl staring at him from the doorway, her brown eyes wide with terror. There were tears on her face and she was but six. She was small, waif like and so very frightened of him. If he had not understood Haradrim, he would have acted without thinking twice, he would have killed. Nunaur's death had enflamed him with rage and when he had attacked his captain's murderer, Legolas was so furious he could barely register anything about his opponent other than Nunaur’s blood on his hands. But it was not his hands.

It was  _her_  hands.

Legolas realised that it was a woman whom he had pinned to the wall by her throat. She could have been Melia, certainly she was the same age and possessed the same physical characteristics. However, she was also the murderer of his friend and he wanted vengeance. He pressed the blade to her throat and saw her gasp in fear, saw the elegant elven sword break skin until a rivulet of blood stained its tip. The girl child had began to weep harder and beg even more frantically but Legolas did not care. What was it about this world that allowed one person to do anything they liked to another without fear of retribution? Like the animals who had violated Melia, who had harmed his people at Eden Ardhon, like this woman who taken from him a friend whose value was beyond words. It would be so easy to end the threat of her now…

"Please!" The child ran to him and pulled at his arm. Legolas reacted instinctively, slamming his fist into the side of her face and sent her sprawling.

"Don’t hurt her!" The woman screamed as the child lay on the floor, stunned by the blow.

"Silence!" Legolas screamed when he realised that he had struck a  _child_. He had lashed out and struck a little girl who had only been trying to protect her mother. His face twisted into anguish as he saw her lying there on the ground, shaking off the blow that was leaving a red welt across her skin. He stared at her hard, feeling the air disappear out of his lungs, unable to breathe, unable to stomach or conceive that he had actually done it, that he had actually become no better than the villains who had murdered little Anna in front of  Melia.

When had this happened? When had he become no better than an Easterling?

The question snapped something inside of him and suddenly, he found himself staring at the woman in his grasp. The fear in her eyes was so great that it screamed out to his elven senses like the wail of Nazgul in the shadow world. She stared at him with quivering lips and tears stained cheeks. He could feel her trembling hard.. Her whole body was shaking so badly that he could feel its tremors beneath his palm. She closed her eyes, anticipating death, expecting it to come because she was staring into the face of the enemy and at the butcher of Axinar.

Staring at him.

Legolas looked at the child and saw the little one continuing to weep in anguish, too terrified to approach him again but clearly distraught that he was going to kill her mother. Her tears cut through his heart and reminded him of the weeping of the other child, the one who stood over his dead father after Legolashad taken his life. Legolas had not simply struck him, he had killed him! He heard her pleading for her mother's life but her words became vague and meaningless. For an elf, words were not always the best way to communicate and his people were blessed with an insight that saw things somewhat clearer than most with occasional lapses.

He continued to stare at the woman but not really seeing her but rather himself reflected in her eyes and what he saw terrified him. His grip slackened and he began to tremble almost as hard as she. The woman broke free and scrambled to her child. She embraced her daughter in her arms, holding the little girl close so that they would be together at least when the elf took their lives. Legolas saw this in their eyes, saw their terrible despair at knowing that they were going to die at his hands. He could sense the blackness comprised of despair, hatred and destruction, a veritable litany of chaos, cajoling him to embrace it willingly. It was numbing his senses, disconnecting his heart from his mind until he knew the incontrovertible truth of it all.

He had lost himself.

He has lost himself the moment he had learnt of Melia's violation and he had done everything to ensure that he remained lost. Like the rising stench of dank water from the bottom of an old well, Legolas began to understand the place he had been occupying the last few months. He had allowed the darkness to build a home inside of him. He had permitted it use of his grief and guilt and allowed it to turn him into a monster, a monster that had butchered a small child over the still warm body of his father. A monster who was looked upon by a woman and her child as some terrible fiend because he had murdered innocents and was going to murder them in the same manner. The blood of all those dead in Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon were on his hand and no matter if he lived until the end of time, that stain would never leave him.

When his blade had been poised at her throat, ready to take her life, he had understood something else. Even though she had killed Nunaur, she was not responsible for his death.

_He was._

The sword dropped from his hands and Legolas sunk to his knees, feeling the slick viscosity of Nunaur's rapidly cooling blood soaking into his breeches and into his boots. He barely noticed it because all he could feel was this terrible emptiness, this well of despair that was threatening to swallow him whole. Legolas looked at his reflection in the pool of Nunaur's blood and came to the disturbing conclusion that he had no idea who it was that was staring back at him.

He did not know who he was any more and that made him weep.


	7. The Light of Day

The fall of Cordoba came short before dawn.

The number of men and elves from the west who had fallen during the battle was slight but Aragorn was more than distressed to learn that Eomer had been injured badly during the fighting. The king of Gondor could not imagine the Rohirrim king being bested by anyone in battle but supposed skill was not an absolute in determining who would survive and who did not. He himself had been injured during the course of the fighting and Aragorn was rather grateful he had come away from it with a wound that allowed him to stay in the battle.

Unfortunately, he had could not say the same for many of the Cordobans who had engaged them in the conflict. Walking through the fortress, or rather limping through it, Aragorn directed both men and elves to secure the city. As he saw the gathered bodies of the dead, lying on the streets in the aftermath of the battle, he flinched when he saw a good portion of them were children and knew that this was no clean victory. Most appeared no older than fifteen and had been recruited to fight in the defense of their city by Satarin who had wanted to show the enemy that Cordoba was not weak. Clad in their armor and carrying weapons in the dark made it difficult to discern their ages until the killing was done and now in the light of day, Aragorn could see many of his warriors were clearly disturbed by the opponents they were forced to kill.

Indeed, the city was decidedly lacking in the charge of excitement that came from a well-deserved victory. Nothing about this engagement had come about in accordance with the rules of warfare. The elves had violated the temporary truce that would allow women and children safe passage from the city and their attack had proved to all Haradrim that not even the word of the Gondorian king could be trusted. It soured the blood inside of Aragorn remembering that. He had known the situation between himself and Legolas were coming to a head. Their diametrically opposing views of how this war should be fought had set them on a collision course from the first but he had hoped that their friendship might avert that eventuality.

Now Legolas had given him no choice but to act. The flouting of his authority before his men was an insult that kings would not tolerate, even from their friends and Legolas had done more than flouted Aragorn’s authority. He had made Aragorn break his word and that was a slight that could not be forgiven, not from a king and more importantly, from a friend. If this was how Legolas intended to conduct the war, with unexpected attacks and broken promises, then Aragorn wanted no part of it. He would order Legolas to either relinquish command to Haldir or Gondor would withdraw.

In any case, this ugly situation in Cordoba would not be repeated.

In the light of day, the city seemed much smaller from the inside than it did when one was poised at the foot of its high walls. While a good portion of the fortress appeared dedicated to military pursuits, Cordoba was largely a trading center for the communities in the Barrens to conduct their commercial ventures. He could see shops surrounding empty squares; houses of mud brick flanking sandstone streets with an extensive system of pipes to drain the arm of Sanara that gave Cordoba its life. Aragorn had also put a stop to the damming of the river since it was now a moot point. He could imagine the aromatic spices that filled the air from the cuisine at the local eateries, the acrid stench of animals in their pens, the scent of exotic spices and musky leather that was traded in the bazaars.

Despite how untrustworthy Legolas had made him seem Aragorn was determined to convince the people of Cordoba that their way of life was not under threat. It was not Gondor’s plan to occupy the country even though it was an inevitability he may have to accept. However, when that became the only course left to him, Aragorn was determined that they would act with more humanity than their enemy.

Still, he had to confess that he was rather surprised that Legolas had pre-empted him by issuing the order that civilians would not be harmed whether or not they were men, women or children. Also, the Prince had not resorted to using flame to raze the city, which indicated that Legolas had at least tried to follow Aragorn’s wishes to a degree. Even now, he could see the elves conducting themselves properly as they worked alongside of Gondor and Rohan’s soldiers to secure Cordoba. While Aragorn was no less furious at Legolas for this attack, he was glad to know that there were some traces of honor left within the Lord of Eden Ardhon.

Aragorn’s attention soon rested on a group of his soldiers led by Beregond, studying a herd of droma in their pens. The beasts fascinated the soldiers and Beregond’s efforts to harness one were a losing battle as the creature in question eyed him with a mixture of challenge and warning. The king stifle a smile at Beregond’s cry of outrage when the thing promptly spat at him and his dignity suffered a severe blow when his companions burst into riotous laughter.

"What are you attempting to do Beregond?" Aragorn asked.

"Sire," Beregond greeted and wiped the spittle from his cheek before offering Aragorn a slight bow of acknowledgement, a gesture repeated by his companions who had suddenly become very composed in the presence of the king. "These creatures are apparently very suited for desert travel," the former guard of Denethor’s house explained. "Their keeper speaks a little Westron and he has told me that they are able to carry reasonable loads across the desert without needing food or water for a week if they have been sufficiently fed before. It would take the burden of some of our horses if we could use these creatures."

"That is a fine idea," Aragorn agreed, impressed with Beregond’s reasoning. It explained greatly why Faramir had so much faith in the Captain of Ithilien. "However, we will buy the animals from their master. I realise we are an occupying army but we will not behave like thugs by taking what we want," Aragorn swept his gaze over all present so that they would understand that this was not an idle request and he expected the Cordobans to be treated fairly. "Offer him the going rate and have him teach you how to handle these beasts. It will not do to have the Captain of Ithilien covered with spit."

Aragorn sniggered and his laughter, prompted Beregond’s companions to display their own amusement, much to the captain’s chagrin.

"Sire, you should be taking the weight off your leg," Beregond pointed out once everyone had amused themselves sufficiently at his expense.

"I will in due course, I wanted to ensure that the city is properly secured and everyone has their orders. With King Eomer in the care of surgeons with Lord Imrahil at his side and I have yet to see Lord Legolas, I thought it only prudent."

"Perhaps Haldir would know where he is," Beregond suggested.

"I am certain that wherever he is, I shall find him soon enough," Aragorn replied, deciding that Beregond’s idea of taking the weight of his leg was sound advice for the injury was beginning to catch up with him. Taking his leave of his men, Aragorn made his way towards the entrance of the city. Most of Cordoba’s residents were remaining indoors but some had started to emerge out of curiosity or realization that the massacres at Axinar and the other Haradrim communities were not going to be repeated.

Aragorn had not advanced far along his journey when suddenly he saw Haldir appear. Haldir’s expression was grave indeed and Aragorn felt his heart tighten in his chest at the possibility of some terrible news. The elf’s face brightened a little at seeing him, which threw Aragorn’s expectation of his news slightly off balance. Haldir strode to Aragorn purposefully as if the elf had searching for him since Haldir appeared very single minded in his approach. Was Legolas injured? Aragorn asked himself. He did not think the elf was killed because Haldir would be in a far worse emotional state if that were the case. Still, Aragorn did not like imagining Legolas dead no matter how angry he was at the elf.

"Elfstone," Haldir said with clear relief. "I am glad I have found you."

"What is it?" Aragorn demanded as he noted Haldir’s hand on his arm gently urging him to follow. "Is Legolas hurt?"

"You must come with me," Haldir said abruptly, his manner filled with anxiety.

"Haldir, you will answer me," Aragorn repeated himself but followed nonetheless, "is he hurt?"

"He has not been harmed," Haldir answered after a moment but felt the words sour in his mouth because he had not told the absolute truth to the Elfstone.

Aragorn knew when an elf was lying to him but did not question Haldir any further because it was apparent that Haldir wanted to  _show_  him rather than tell him what was the matter. Haldir’s manner was one of concern and yet there was a shadow over his eyes that Aragorn could not explain, that chilled him to the bone because it seemed as if something had shaken Haldir to the core. As elves went, Haldir was perhaps one of the most self-assured he had ever met, bordering on arrogance at times. There was very little Aragorn could imagine that could cause the elf’s jaw to drop open in astonishment since Haldir always appeared capable of taking everything in stride.

Until now.

Haldir led him through a series of narrow streets that emptied into a small square surrounded by homes. There were bodies littering the path to the square and Aragorn made a mental note to instruct the soldiers to retrieve them for burial when he and Haldir were done. The civilian casualties had been light owing to Aragorn’s and Legolas’ specific orders to ensure it and while there were unfortunate incidents, for most part they had succeeded in keeping the number of innocents killed in the battle to a minimum. However, upon entering the square, Aragorn stopped short and understood the reason for Haldir’s anxiety.

Kneeling on the ground in a pool of drying blood next to the dead body of Eden Ardhon’s captain, Nunaur, was Legolas Greenleaf.

His sword rested besid him and blood had soaked through his breeches and his boots. He was kneeling back on his legs, his eyes staring into something only he could see. His expression was one of such despair that it drove the anger from Aragorn without the king being the slightest bit aware of it. Gone was the enigmatic mask of aloofness that kept his emotions hidden. There was no trace of concealment or elven dignity, just that soul crushing despair that drew all light to it like ravenous Ungoliant. Aragorn could well understand why Haldir had sought him out.

Legolas had never been so exposed or vulnerable.

"Go," Aragorn said simply, his eyes fixed on the prince.

"What?" Haldir looked at him.

"NOW!" Aragorn shouted and made the elf jump, startled.

Haldir wanted to protest but instead chose to nod quickly and depart.

Aragorn approached Legolas slowly and wondered how long he had been here. Probably since Nunaur had died, Aragorn decided almost immediately after the question had crossed his mind. The elf did not react to his approach but Aragorn was certain Legolas knew he was there. One did not sneak up on an elf. It simply did not happen. He reached Legolas and lowered himself to the ground, beyond the reach of blood but close enough to be able to smell what heat and exposure was doing to the body. Nunaur needed taking away to be afforded a proper burial.

"Legolas," Aragorn reached for him.

  
"Leave me be," Legolas said quietly before Aragorn’s fingers could reach his shoulder.

"No," Aragorn said determinedly, "I will not leave you like this."

"I did not ask for your company," Legolas shifted his eyes briefly to Aragorn. "I want to be left alone."

"So you can let yourself be eaten away by more guilt?" Aragorn accused.

"I know my sins," Legolas replied, his voice soft and defeated. "You need not point them out to me."

"You know your sins," Aragorn agreed but he was not about to let Legolas’ ambivalence deter him. His friend was in pain and despite everything that had happened between them, Aragorn could not walk away when Legolas so clearly needed help. "But do you know how to live with them? We all make wrong choices Legolas, we go right when we should go left and there are consequences that come with each of those choices we cannot change. Nunaur’s death is not one of those consequences. I grieve his death for I know what he meant to you but we were midst of battle where the risk of death is always a possibility."

"He was not killed by a soldier," Legolas replied without looking at Aragorn, "he was killed by a woman."

"A woman?" Aragorn wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"He was killed by a woman. She was so terrified that she and her child were going to be murdered by elves that she impaled him upon her sword through the back, even though we did nothing to provoke it," he hissed through a clenched jaw and Aragorn saw just how close he was to breaking.

"I am sorry Legolas," Aragorn said gently, seeing the unimaginable pain in Legolas’ eyes and feeling all of his anger evaporate in the face of that terrible anguish.

"She did not kill him," Legolas replied listlessly, his brow furrowing above eyes misting over with emotion, "I did."

"Legolas…" He started to say when Legolas cut him off abruptly.

"She was terrified that we would harm her and her child so she struck out first," Legolas explained, the word escaping him like spittle of venom. "She killed Nunaur because she thought she would be murdered as the people of Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon were murdered. She killed because I drove her to kill."

  
Aragorn did not know what to say and realized that there was nothing he could say that would make this any easier to bear, because it was the truth. Legolas was correct. The woman was driven to defend her child because she believed the elves would kill them both.

"I have become a monster Aragorn," Legolas continued to speak, not waiting for the king of Gondor to respond. "I have become a monster, no better than Sauron or Saruman. I have allowed the darkness into my heart and it has grown a home inside of me, malignant with malice. You tried to tell me but I would not listen. I allowed the hate to sweep me away and now it has destroyed me as surely as I destroyed Nunaur’s life. I do not know who I am any more, I have destroyed myself."

"No you have not," Aragorn was finally forced into speaking at the hearing of that statement. "You are not destroyed, you have just lost your way. You are Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood and Lord of Ithilien but more then that, you are a member of the Fellowship and my friend. I know what drove you and I will not exonerate your sins because that is not within my power but I can tell you that I still see my friend before me. I told you once that you were driven by pain, that it was a wound that screamed out to everyone who saw you."

"It is no excuse," Legolas shook his head, refusing to believe it. "When that woman killed Nunaur, I was ready to kill her and her child. I took a sword to her Aragorn and I struck her child! That is an act not worthy of an elf!"

"Did you kill her?" Aragorn was almost afraid to ask.

"No," Legolas answered in almost a gasp of horror. "I could not do it. When I struck that child, I realised I was no better than the animals who murdered Anna in front of Melia. I had become my enemy Aragorn. I saw her weeping and I knew that I had turned myself into a monster because of my hate."

Aragorn did not show Legolas the relief flooding through him at the elf’s admission but he did feel it nonetheless. "A monster would have killed them Legolas," Aragorn pointed out, "a monster would not have cared less that he had struck a child or had taken a sword to a helpless woman. You are not what you claim to be. I allowed our friendship to keep me from saying what I ought to have said as your friend and my inability to do so has brought us to this place. It is dark and it is filled with blood but there is a way back and I am not leaving it without you, not this time. I should have said this to you long before this moment but I did not, nor did I give you my faith when you needed it, most much to my everlasting shame. However, I will not let you disappear into your own grief when what you need most of all is to know forgiveness."

"I cannot be forgiven!" Legolas shouted. "I have become an animal! I killed that child. I did not even think when he came up behind me! I only thought he was the enemy and I struck blindly. I am an elf, I have senses that is keener than most! I should have guessed it was a child! I was so mad with anger and rage at what they had done Melia because of me, that I could not see anything beyond my need to strike out at an enemy and a child died at my hand because of it!"

"It was an accident Legolas," Aragorn found himself saying and feeling some measure of surprise because he believed it. "It was a tragic accident and one you will have to live with."

"How can I live with it?" He shook his head, his tears a well run dry in his body. He had wept over Nunaur’s body when there was still warmth in his blood and there were no more tears left in Legolas to weep but the deep well of emptiness still remained and when he looked into it, he still saw the reflection of someone who was not quite the person he had been.

"You must because that is simply the way life is," Aragorn returned. "You stained your hands with blood and that is a stain that does not wash away no matter much you try. It has branded itself into your skin and has become a part of you for as long as you live. It is not a pleasant thought and in this I say men are at least more fortunate than elves for our sins die with our bodies while yours live with you. However, your penance for what was done comes from learning to live it and forgiving yourself for sins that you had no control to prevent."

"I do not think I can," Legolas met his eyes for the first time. "I do not wish too."

"So now what?" Aragorn accused, his voice becoming hard as he decided to adopt a different strategy. "You allow yourself to fade away with guilt because that is the easier road? You have people who care for you, a wife who is beset with enough grief without learning you went mad and allowed yourself to die. Tell me Legolas," Aragorn stared at him. "In this course of vengeance you embarked upon, how much of this was truly about Melia and how much of it was really about you?"

"What?" Legolas stared at him, his jaw clenching in anger at the accusation. "You dare ask me that?"

"Yes," Aragorn nodded. "I do because your lady would never have condoned the death of those people in the villages. She would never have condoned your attack upon Cordoba or anything you have done since entering Haradwraith. You say your vengeance is for her dishonor and for the dishonor of Eden Ardhonbut I am starting to think that this is about you. That it has always been about  _you_."

"They raped my wife and the women of my colony!" Legolas glared at him with growing rage simmering beneath his blue eyes. "They raped her and killed others! They nearly razed my home to the ground and my wife is so tormented with guilt that she think she was responsible for the death of Anna, not them, she!"

"And you are  _here_ ," Aragorn insisted, determined to have the elf do the one thing he had not since he had arrived in Haradwraith, confront the guilt and anger which had led him to become the monster Legolas claimed himself to be. "You are here instead of being at her side. You left her straight after the event and set out to Haradwraith. I saw Melia more than you did after what happened to her. I do not think that you are avenging her, I think you are avenging yourself!"

Legolas lunged before the words even left Aragorn’s lips, toppling Gondor’s king to the ground and striking out a fist when Aragorn was down. His fist struck the king’s jaw as Legolas kneeled over him and Aragorn felt a flare of pain before reacting in kind. His leg struck out, the ball of his uninjured foot connecting with the side of Legolas’ head and threw the elven lord off him. Aragorn rolled around and saw the fire of rage building in Legolas as the elf scrambled to his feet to strike again. Aragorn caught his fist and slammed an elbow into Legolas’ sternum, causing him to double over. However, Legolasrecovered quickly and barreled into Aragorn’s body headfirst.

Man and elf fell rolled across the ground with both Aragorn and Legolas giving as good as they got, with fists flying, legs throwing one another off, giving each a temporary reprieve before the combat began. Fist met jaw, blood seeped from cracked skin and bruises began to form beneath pummeling knuckles. They could taste dirt in their mouths, intermingling with blood as they fought each other. Two opponents evenly matched even though the elf was stronger and far more experienced. However, Aragorn possessed the innovation that came with a mind accustomed to quick thinking in order to achieve everything within a short life span.

It was unknown to either how long they engaged in this test of will only that after some time, exhaustion set into their limbs and their blows became less focussed or more half-hearted. Aragorn’s fist connected with Legolas’ jaw and the elf went sprawling. However, Legolas did not attack again choosing to throw a handful of dust at Aragorn in a last act of defiance before his strength gave out and he lay back in exhaustion, panting hard. Aragorn made no move either and seemed just as tired when they both met each others gaze and burst out laughing like two friends who had discovered the punchline to an enormously good joke. They sat before each other laughing, not chuckling but  _laughing_  in full belly laughter whose ability to cleanse were rather surprising.

"You are too hard on yourself elf," Aragorn met his gaze when they had composed themselves.

Legolas met his gaze and suddenly, the humor drained from his face as he spoke, lips trembling; "you cannot say that if you knew how I felt. You cannot know what it is like to see what I saw in her eyes, to see their faces and know that I was responsible for all of it." His words escaped his faster, a litany pouring from his lips without Legolas being the least bit aware of it.

 _Now they were getting to the heart of it,_  Aragorn thought silently.

"It should not have happened! We changed the world you and I Aragorn! We helped with the destruction of Sauron and Saruman and fought countless evils across the face of Middle Earth! We fought darkness on a scale that is almost unimaginable and we have lost too. We lost Boromir and we might as well have lost Frodo for what the ring did to him but it was worth it for the promise of what the future held. This is not the future I wanted, I did not dream of this! We are heroes Aragorn, heroes! These things do not happen to heroes! After everything that we went through to see the beginning of a peaceful Fourth Age, this should not have happened! Not to me! It is not fair! I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS!"

  
Aragorn watched Legolas unburdened himself in rage until the pent up fury inside of him to burst fee at last, spilling forth like a boil that had been finally treated. He heard the fissures appearing in Legolas’ wrath, the tiny cracks in his voice that indicated that the back of his outrage and anger was about to shatter. Aragorn listened without speaking because Legolas needed to say what was on his mind, he needed this release because it had been eating away at him since they had received the news in Lossarnach that the Easterlings were about to fall upon Eden Ardhon. This would not return Legolas to himself, even Aragorn was not so foolish as to think that, but it would certainly help the elf remember who he was.

"IT SHOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED!"

Legolas screamed finally before the tide of emotion burst forth like a dam and his word descended into tears, tears that were very different than the ones he had wept earlier when he realised that he had lost himself. These tears were different for their source was a far older pain, a pain that had been festering since Eden Ardhon, since he came home and found that his world had been devastated. The outrage at the unfairness of it had driven him to embark upon a path of bloodshed he did not believe himself capable until he had almost murdered that woman and her child.

He wept in deep, hoarse sobs that had reached from the very depths of his soul and shuddered his entire being. He still wanted vengeance, that much had not changed but he would not pursue it to the risk of his very identity. He unleashed it all, supposing Aragorn was right, he knew his sins but he did not know how to live with it. He supposed that was an advantage that came with being human, to be able to accept one’s guilt and go on. It was the product of a life span that was too short to be squandered on agonizing over what could not be changed. It was a lesson elves seldom learnt until it was too late. He wiped his tears and raised his eyes to Aragorn who had sat quietly and let him expunge himself.

"You put up with a great deal from me," Legolas said softly. "Why?"

"Because you are my friend, stupid," Aragorn retorted with a faint smile. "What else was I meant to do?"

"You could have given up on me," Legolas pointed out.

"There have been times when you could have done the same to me," Aragorn reminded, "you did not."

"You did not behave as I have these past months," the elf said somberly.

"No, I did not," Aragorn was forced to agree with that. "A while ago I told you that you must forgive yourself and I cannot ask you do such a thing if I am not willing to forgive you first. I am not happy about what you have done Legolas, I will not lie to you about that but I will forgive you because I need you as more than just an ally in this war. I need you as my friend."

"Thank you," Legolas said to Aragorn, his eyes full of emotion because Aragorn’s friendship had been such a surprise for one as old as he. Three thousand years and he had not shared the connection he did with anyone that he shared with Aragorn. While Legolas did not like to think of the day, he knew that when Aragorn passed from this world it would break his heart almost as completely as losing Melia.

"I shall miss Nunaur terribly," Legolas gazed at the body of his faithful comrade, lying where he had fallen, oblivious to all that had transpired in the wake of his demise.

"I know," Aragorn said sympathetically, glancing at the body of the elf. "He was a great warrior and a good friend."

"It was Nunaur who taught me how to string my first bow," Legolas said fondly, remembering in his mind’s eye the child he had been, so uncertain when the bow had been placed in his hand. Nunaur had been so reassuring that he would learn how to use it when he saw it as an extension of himself. "My father was often too busy for such lessons so it was Nunaur who often took up the duty of my education. He taught me how to ride, to shoot a bow, to fight with blade and was one of my few friends when I was a child. I do not know how he can ever be replaced in my heart."

"Friends like him cannot be Legolas," Aragorn said softly, finding himself thinking of Boromir as he said those words. His friendship with the Son of Gondor had been brief but knowing Boromir had helped him to see Gondor as more than just the place where his kingship lay but rather a place he could love, a place that deserved a king worthy of it. "Their worth is measured by the sorrow we feel at their passing. You cannot replace such affection with another. It is wholly distinct onto its own."

Legolas absorbed Aragorn’s words and decided that once again, the human had a better understanding of death than any elf could. The doom of man could be a great teacher at times.

"I still want him dead you know," Legolas stated after a moment, "the Haradrim king."

"I rather suspected you would," Aragorn nodded, not at all surprised by that statement.

"I promised that I intended to burn his city around his ears," Legolas replied, "I intend to keep that promise although I will try not to harm anyone else. He deserves to die Aragorn. For what he did to me and mine, he deserves to die."

"Just as long as you understand that we are fighting a war, not a personal vendetta," Aragorn reminded.

"I cannot forget that," Legolas met his eyes and Aragorn saw that he did understand, he understood better than Aragorn could possibly have given him credit. "After what I have become, I dare not forget it."

Legolas suddenly turned toward the alley leading out of the square, "someone comes," he declared.

"It is probably Haldir," Aragorn answered dusting himself off.

"His steps are too loud," Legolas countered. "It is a man that approaches."

The man in question was the Prince of Dol Amroth, who stopped short at the sight of both of them. Aragorn saw the shock on Imrahil’s face as his jaw dropped open and could imagine the thoughts running through the Prince’s mind as he saw them bloodied, bruised, covered in dirt, sitting on the ground after exhausting themselves from their little brawl.

"Look at you both!" Imrahil snapped, appearing to have finally lost his temper with  _all_  his allies in this war at long last. Considering their behavior since the onset of this campaign, Aragorn supposed it was only a matter of time before even the Prince’s cool demeanor was shaken. Imrahil strode to Aragorn and hoisted him to his feet as if Aragorn were one of his sons misbehaving.

"Kindly remember that you are the king of Gondor and not some tavern brawler!" Imrahil scolded as he made Aragorn stand up. "You are meant to be our leader in this conflict and at this particular moment, you do not engender enough confidence to inspire our cook to make a decent meal, let alone invade a country! It does little to your dignity to be fighting like children in the dirt. I would have thought that two supposedly grown men would have better ways to deal with their quarrel…"

"You are in trouble Estel," Legolas sniggered at Aragorn’s dressing down particularly when Aragorn was wearing the look of an admonished child.

"Do not let me start with you," Imrahil turned on Legolas with as much vehemence producing a corresponding smirk from Aragorn. "If your father Thranduil were here, I am certain he would be inspired to cuff you about the ear as well. Unfortunately, one of you is my king and another one is my ally so I cannot bestow that lesson upon either of you particularly when you are so sorely in need! Whatever your differences, try to at least deal with it in the manner befitting your stations!"

"We are sorry Imrahil," Aragorn apologized, trying not to smile. "It shall not happen again."

"Yes," Legolas exchanged a similar smirk with Aragorn, "we are terribly sorry. We have resolved our quarrel. There shall be no repeat of this violence again."

Imrahil stared at both of them wondering if he had perhaps been mistaken about the scene he had entered. "Are you both amusing yourself at my expense?" He asked suspiciously.

Aragorn and Legolas burst out laughing once again, thoroughly confusing the Prince of Dol Amroth.

"Thank you for your counsel Imrahil," Aragorn grinned, patting him on the shoulder as he wiped a smear of blood from his lip. "We  _had_  resolved our differences somewhat but your perspective is always welcomed."

"I see," Imrahil frowned, feeling somewhat foolish about his outburst now that it appeared he had walked into it after their issues with each other had been dealt with. However, he was grateful that they had come to some form of understanding.

"How is Eomer?" Aragorn asked remembering that Imrahil had been keeping a vigil at the Rohirrim lord’s side for most of this conflict.

"What is wrong with Eomer?" Legolas asked with concern.

"He was impaled when he turned his back on a child that had been wearing the mail of a Haradrim soldier," Imrahil answered with more than a little bitterness in his voice. "Eomer had sought to spare the boy who promptly speared him through the chest as soon as he turned to leave."

  
"Is he going to live?" The elf asked with alarm, his stomach knotting in disgust as how Eomer’s act of mercy had been treated.

"The surgeons are still working on his wounds," Imrahil turned to Aragorn. "I sought you out because I thought you might be able to help."

"I will do what I can," Aragorn said without hesitation and started to follow Imrahil out of the square. They had not taken a few steps when he noticed Legolas was not following them. The elf had drifted to Nunaur’s body and was staring at his dead captain, his face etched in sadness.

"Legolas?" Aragorn called.

"Go," Legolas bade him, "I will join you in due course, I wish first to see to Nanuar’s body. I do not wish to leave him here like this."

Aragorn nodded in understanding and left Legolas alone to tend to his dead while Aragorn set out to ensure that Eomer remained among the living.

* * *

"So how are you related to Melia?" Faramir asked as they remained within the confines of Kirin’s vessel, still moored to the river.

It had been little more than an hour since they were forced to flee to the refuge of the craft, one of many moored along the Sanara river which ran through the heart of the city. Although they could not hear the sounds of their pursuers, Faramir had no doubt that soon the search for them would spread across the city and find them even here. One simply did not kill three Haradrim soldiers and expect to be forgotten. No doubt the murders of three soldiers would ensure the determination of the proper authorities to apprehend them, particularly when those soldiers had been recruiting for the war effort. It would be the same if they were in Minas Tirith and Faramir did not expect the Haradrim to be any different in this respect. He supposed that there was some consolation to be had in the fact that the enemy was seeking three deserters, not spies. If they had known, it would have changed the complexion of the search considerably.

It was decided that they should leave Mahazar by way of river within the hour and sail further down river before making the journey across land to the Splinter to join with the armies of the west, travelling through the narrow passage through the Wall. Following their preparations to make the boat ready for its journey, the new companions sat down for a brief repast and Faramir took the opportunity to question the High Chieftain a little more, particularly in relation to his connection to Melia. Although Faramir did not know Melia as well as Eowyn, he knew that she did not liked to discuss her past. He could understand why of course, since what little Melia had deigned to reveal indicated clearly that the lady’s experiences in her homeland had been less than pleasant and those who knew her, chose not to pursue the matter.

"She is my cousin," Kirin answered seeing no harm in telling Faramir about his relationship with Melia. Since so much hinged on his familial obligations to Melia, it was a necessity for Faramir to understand the bonds between them. "Her father was my uncle."

"Melia does not speak a great deal about her homeland," Faramir explained, hoping that would instigate more revelation on Kirin’s part.

"It is hardly surprising," Kirin remarked perfectly aware of Faramir’s curiosity if the little smile on Pallando’s face was any indication of his intentions. The wizard was content to sit leaning against the wall as he savored his pipe and gazed at his companions through the tendrils of diminishing smoke rising from it. "Melia was never truly accepted by a large portion of my family I am sorry to say. She was the daughter of a woman who had abandoned her husband and it was the view of many of my kin that Melia would be no better."

"The sins of her mother are hardly her fault," Pallando stated since he knew better than anyone did the reason why Melia’s mother Ninuie, had never returned home with Hezare to the people of Bors.

"I do not disagree with you wizard," Kirin quickly interjected. "Save myself and her father, she had no one who truly cared about her welfare among my family, a situation that shames me even now. It was not even her fault that she was regarded so uncharitably, it was her father’s. He chose to raise her differently then it was customary for the women of my people to be raised. Hezare believed that a daughter of his should know how to defend herself and so she was taught to fight and to use the bow. Worse, yet she was taught to think, a most terrible affliction for a woman in those days."

"And yet you do not seem to mind," Faramir pointed out, wondering how Eowyn would endure under such conditions and then considered himself lucky that she was a woman of substance. He adored his golden haired shield maiden who was his equal and with whom he never needed to be anyone but himself.

"I spent a great deal of time with Hezare and Melia in my youth," Kirin answered, remembering the friendship he had struck with Melia who was a little older than him and had always awed him by her determination to stand up for herself. "My father was always more interested in my older brother whom he groomed from birth to take up his position as High Chieftain. A second son to man is little more than insurance should the first be unable to fulfil his responsibilities. I am afraid that my father rather forgot I existed since it was my brother who occupied most of his time."

Faramir warmed immediately to him.

"Fortunately, Hezare was a second son himself and he knew what it was like to be forgotten so when he was home, we spent a good deal of time together. He was our greatest warrior and he taught me that though he could not serve as High Chieftain, he had served defending our people nonetheless. I owe him a great deal and I mourned him almost as much as Melia when he fell in battle."

Faramir could well believe that Hezare had engendered so much respect among his kin having heard how revered his was by the Easterlings who considered the Bors enemy. During the treaty celebration, Ulfrain had spoken of Hezare and how he had died on his feet, ensuring that he did not go easily and he certainly had not met his death alone. He could tell that Kirin still missed Hezare by the effort the younger man made to conceal the involuntary grief that had appeared in his eyes.

"So you and Melia were close," Faramir spoke up, moving past the subject of Hezare’s passing for the benefit of his new ally.

"Yes," Kirin nodded, "we grew up together. It was I who warned her off the family’s plan to marry her off once her father had passed. It was their intention to make her a proper woman in the eyes of our people. Strangely enough, Melia had known from the moment Hezare had died that her life was about to change. She did not seem at all surprised when they broke the news of the marriage to her." Kirin remembered the sadness in her eyes, thinking how much he hated tradition and custom when he saw the decision she had no choice but to make, forced upon her. He remembered swearing to himself that he would never force another woman into the same position if he had the power to do so.

"In the end, it appeared Hezare was right after all," Kirin said somberly, "unfortunately, we learnt this lesson the hard way."

Faramir sense an ominous revelation in Kirin’s statement but did not interrupt because he wanted the High Chieftain to continue.

"Some years ago," Kirin explained, "the Easterlings and Haradrim came to us once more with an offer to join them. They spoke about the coming of a great war, a war that would change the shape of Middle Earth for all time. It was time for us to stand up and be counted, they had said because the enemies of their dark lord were about to be destroyed. Naturally, we refused."

Faramir and Pallando exchanged brief glances before Faramir said quietly, "the War of the Ring."

"Yes," Pallando nodded in agreement. "What happened when you refused?" He asked Kirin a moment later.

"They came at us with everything they had," Kirin said softly, the emotion seeping into his voice despite his efforts not to. "We had never seen so many of them. They swept into all our territories and we held them as best we could but we were unable to protect all our tribes. The Easterlings penetrated into some of the tribal communities, murdering what men there were who had not been called to fight. They raped women and when they were done with the violation, took them out of the Sunlands as spoils of war. There are many daughters of Bors who now reside in Easterling and Haradrim lands as slaves and we have no idea what became of them. The girls they took, the boys who could grow up to become warriors, they did away with the sword. We had never suffered defeat on this scale before."

Kirin paused a moment to compose himself. He did not tell the western prince that during those attacks, he had suddenly found himself master of his house. His father and his older brother Telemar, were slain in battle, his mother murdered in her home and his youngest sister, claimed as an Easterling prize. However, he had not lost all of his family and good portion remained while other suffered even more devastating losses. The attacks had shaken the people of Bors to their very souls because they had never been assaulted so close to home. However, one thing became apparent in the wake of this calamity, their women could no longer afford to be raised so complacent. They needed to know how to protect themselves in the absence of warriors.

"It changed our way of thinking considerably," Kirin explained, revealing none of the more personal details of the attack to Faramir. "Our women were helpless when the invaders came to their homes. They did not know how to escape or defend themselves and their children because we men had forbidden them to learn. After the Scourge, what we call the attacks, our laws were changed to make it permissible for women to pick the sword and learn its craft. Some of our older tribal leaders still have difficulty accepting it but the Scourge taught us we could no longer afford to be so short sighted with the safety of our women. So far, there are only a few women who can be called warriors but in time, that will change."

"A sensible course," Faramir agreed. "Our women do not fight as warriors but they can learn to if they wish and in realms such as Rohan, it is fortunate that they did for it could have ended badly for them otherwise."

"Melia is no longer considered the outcast she was," Kirin continued to explain. "After the Scourge, we were not so quick to judge her and her marriage to Lord Legolas, one of the Fellowship, is a source of great pride to our people."

"You know of the Fellowship?" Faramir exclaimed with some measure of surprise because he did not think that the legend of the Fellowship had penetrated this far into the world. The Sunlands was as distant from the western realm as could possibly be and to think that the legend had reached across Middle Earth in a favorable light was rather astonishing.

"Our people occasionally travel beyond our territories and we have heard the tale of the periannath who found Sauron’s evil ring and those who accompanied him on the quest to destroy it," Kirin replied. "However, it was not until the burning of Lord Legolas’ realm and the violation of his wife did we know that the Easterling he wedded was called Melia. Once we acquired confirmation that Lord Legolas’ wife was indeed Hezare’s daughter, we saw the opportunity to defeat our enemies once and for all. My people are tired of being besieged by the Easterlings and the Haradrim. We want to be free of their threat and if that freedom means risking our lives in a battle that will take us far from our lands, then so be it, we will do so for  _any_  chance at peace."

"Your house is honor bound to offer Legolas your allegiance," Pallando pointed out, "is it not?"

Kirin’s lips curled into a smile and he nodded, rather impressed with Pallando’s knowledge of his people’s customs, "you know our laws well wizard," he declared, "and you are right. As the head of my house, I am bound to align myself with the husband of my kinswoman."

"A compelling reason on both counts to join us," Faramir remarked. "How many men can you promise us and how quickly are they able to march?"

"Prior to my departure from the Sunlands, I issued my people those very orders," Kirin replied, recalling the instructions he had given to Andros and Radik. "They will be approaching from the east and I believe if we coordinate ourselves, we can enclose the Belt on two fronts. We will be approaching with an army three thousand strong."

Faramir drew in his breath for that was a formidable force indeed and certainly worth its weight in any alliance. "That is most impressive," Faramir commended "If we coordinate ourselves, we can attack them with a force of ten thousand."

"Ten thousand," Kirin said with a little smile, imagining the power of such an army fighting not only for the benefit of the west but also for the people of the Sunlands. "Those are extremely favorable odds."

  
"They may be," Faramir was not about to make that claim yet. "As we speak, my comrades are marching towards the Wall, if they have not arrived already. I anticipate they will be delayed but briefly at the fortress of Cordoba but once they had taken it, they will make for the Splinter with all haste. We have reports that the Easterlings and the Variags are amassing troops and will be marching for Haradwraith. We believe they intend to engage us before we leave the Splinter."

"They are three days north of here," Kirin declared, "and they number six thousand."

"Thee days?" Pallando turned Faramir, "they will not reach the Splinter in time."

"They do not intend to engage your people at the Splinter," Kirin answered, "Dallanar intends to bring the fight to the belt, to halt your forces within sight of it and he has more than enough men at his disposal to see it done."

* * *

It was strange how quickly her memories of Haradwraith returned to her even though it had been more than twelve years since she made the journey to the west.

She had been little more than seventeen years old, a child really, yet by the reckoning of the Bors, she was old enough for marriage. The notion had terrified her, being given to some stranger, to be his creature with no will of her own. She had suspected such a fate would befall her the moment she had learnt her father had died in battle but she had not anticipated how quickly his family would move to make it a reality. The only person who had helped her was the one who warned her of her impending matrimony. Despite being just a boy, Kirin had ensured she had enough gold to trade for passage beyond the territories of the Bors.

  
She had disguised herself as a boy, cutting her long dark hair almost to the scalp and wearing the clothes of Telemar, Kirin’s older brother when she had acquired passage on a ship that would take her across the inland sea to the mountains of Turan. The Turan Mountains, the great range that sheltered the territory of the Bors from its neighbors, bordered Khand and the Sunlands. Maintaining her guise a young man on a journey to see the world, Melia had journeyed across the land of the Variags before arriving at the Sanara River. Once again, she gained passage on a fishing vessel and found herself at Mahazar, the capital of Haradwraith.

In Mahazar, it was a simple matter for her to become lost in the exotic city. She had joined a trading caravan travelling westward for it was far easier to move about in the company of travelling merchants then by herself through the wastes of the Barrens. Her gold had wasted away to nothing and she had worked tending droma for the remainder of the journey. Even though she knew how to protect herself in combat, Melia knew almost nothing about the world beyond the Sunlands and linguistic skills had been worse than lacking. Those early years in the west, which were brewing with so much darkness were difficult ones for her and as the years tumbled by, Melia forced herself to think less and less of those times.

Haradwraith had not changed from her recollections of it. The windswept plains of harsh, arid terrain, the jagged smear of rock against the sky when the dunes had paused momentarily, transported her back to her youth. The smell of the desert was familiar and did not alter even when one traveled as far as the Sunlands. It was a distinct smell of heat, sweat and salt. She saw Gimli suffering under the heat and wondered how he had managed to journey across Haradwraith on his own. Her affection for the dwarf had deepened even more when she realized he had undertaken the difficult trip alone because he was determined to bring her the news that her Prince needed her.

"You will need some  _lanos_  salve on your skin," Melia noted as she saw his pink skin suffering horrendously under the cutting heat. His face was blistered in places and she knew that this was an affliction that seemed to beset those of fair coloring only. The people of the south and the east were of predominantly darker coloring so they did not burn as easily as the Westron. Melia did not even want to imagine what this climate was doing to the elves that were so fair.

"Lanos?" He looked at her.

"Yes," Melia said with a little smile as she sat astride Lomelindi and continued on their languid pace. It was hot enough without pushing the horses to the limits of their endurance. Best to let the animals continue at their own pace. "The women make it from sheep’s wool. They boil it and remove the oil to make a salve they use to apply on infants. It keeps their tender skin from blistering. I think you will need some."

"Its nothing," Gimli shrugged. "I have suffered much worse. We dwarves are very resilient you know."

"I do not doubt that," she replied, "but it would please me if you wore some nonetheless. Lorin would not forgive me I did not take care of you while in we were travelling together."

"You women fuss too much," Gimli grumbled but Melia could see the longing in his eyes at the mention of his wife Lorin, who awaited him in Aglarond.

"There should be a town not far away from here," Melia remarked, surprised how much came back to her now that she was travelling in Haradwraith again. "I think it is called Axinar. If I recall correctly, they’re farmers mostly. They grow corn."

"We should not pause in our journey," Gimli said quickly, having no desire to explain to Melia why they should not stop at the community of Axinar, not after what Legolas and the elves had done there, not after what he had done there when he fought at their side. He had been vague about the details regarding Legolas’ need for her, saying only enough to ensure Melia made the journey. In fact, the question of whether or not he ought to tell her precisely what Legolas had been doing in Haradwraith was one he had debated ever since he had left for Gondor.

"Gimli," Melia met his gaze. "We have to stop. The horses are not used to this terrain. They will need the rest. Axinar has water and we ourselves should take the opportunity for shelter while it is available. The next town is at least two days journey ahead."

"Melia," Gimli swallowed thickly, having no idea how to convince her otherwise since she knew the terrain and there was no reasonable explanation he could give her for avoiding Axinar unless it was the truth of what Legolas had done there. "It is not a good idea that we stop in Axinar. I do not think its folk will be very hospitable."

"What do you mean?" Melia stared at him and something inside her bristled with alarm. Something in his eyes made her heart clench inside her chest and her stomach hollow with anxiety. "Gimli, what are you not telling me?"

"I did not wish to burden you with this," the dwarf said dropping his gaze to the ground. "However, if you insist on going to Axinar, I have no choice but to tell you lass."

"What has happened?" Melia asked, her throat was dry and she knew his answer was terrible indeed because she could see it in his eyes and his reluctance to speak.

With a strained breath and wishing that he could face all of Sauron’s hordes instead of undertaking the task before him at this moment, Gimli spoke in a voice that did not at all like his when he revealed to Melia the truth about Axinar. He told her of Legolas’ desire to keep the men of Haradwraith from flocking to the banner of their king by murdering them in their villages. He told of the massacres at Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon. He spoke in a low voice, describing the terrible images as he remembered them and spoke of his shame at his own conduct in these campaigns.

Melia listened with interruption and Gimli had no inkling what thoughts were running through her mind as he revealed the full measure of Legolas’ actions in all its sordid detail. Her eyes were dark and unfathomable as she listened and as he continued to speak, her lack of reaction made him even more anxious that he had done something terrible by revealing to her the truth she had insisted upon hearing.

"Melia," Gimli said when all was concluded. "He is in pain and he does not know what he is doing. His need to avenge you blinds him to all else. You are the only one who can make him see that he does not need to spill blood for you."

  
"I should not  _have_  to make him see that," Melia declared with anguish. "He is an elf who has lived long enough to know what is justified and what is not! Is there not enough upon my conscience already to be burdened with this as well? I did not become his wife so that he could be driven to murder because of me! If that is what I have made him then perhaps it is best that I do not see him at all! Perhaps it is best that I went home."

"Home?" Gimli’s eyes widened. "To Eden Ardhon?"

"No," Melia shook her head slowly, "to my father’s people, to the Sunlands."


	8. Diverging Paths

 

In the house of healing victory was a matter of perspective.

Here it was difficult to console oneself with thoughts of glory or victory when faced with the stark reality of broken and dying bodies. To the dead and even to the injured, ideology and principle seemed to possess little meaning when eyes so previously filled with righteousness had dulled to a mute silence when they were forced to confront the extent of carnage needed to uphold it. It was hard to think of territory and moral victories when one’s hands were stained of blood from another being, to know when the fatal blow was struck that all that person would ever be was now discarded into nothingness. It was ever harder to accept being responsible for it.

No matter how many battles he had fought, no matter how seasoned the troops under his command, it never ceased to surprise Aragorn how many times he would encounter this same expression in the aftermath of the fighting. It did not matter if they were men or elves, the same feeling of disillusion would fall upon them, like a man waking up from a dream and finding the reality nowhere as sweet. He saw them in the house of healing, shuffling about with their injuries, helping friend and comrades to healers whilst wearing this same mask of stunned surprise at discovering war being anything but glorious.

Unlike its counterpart in Minas Tirith which was an edifice made of stone and a building that held as much sacred reverence as the White Tower itself. The house of healing erected upon the plain before the fortress of Cordoba was little more than a large tent with rolls of bedding spread across the ground for the sick and tables for those who needed treating. The cold night have given way to a windy morning causing the tent flaps to sway about mercilessly on the current. Particles of sand and grit were scouring anything in its path and Aragorn knew that it would not be long before the flaps would have to be lowered. There was nothing more dangerous to open wounds than dirt and too much of it was being borne into the tent by the wind.

Imrahil had said little during their approach to the tent and Aragorn suspected the Prince’s thoughts were fixed upon Eomer’s condition. Aragorn could not blame him for he too was worried about the Rohirrim king. Eomer was one of the few people who knew him as Aragorn first, not as King Elessar. Both were known to each other before they had become kings of men and it was a friendship they valued greatly. They had come a long way together since their first meeting on the road to Rohan so many years ago and Aragorn would be grieved if Eomer were to pass this day.

Despite Imrahil’s summons, Aragorn was certain there was little he could do for Eomer that was beyond the expertise of the healers tending him. The surgeons were men who were accustomed to treating battlefield injuries and considering Gondor’s history during the last twenty years; their skills had been refined through sheer experience. However, Aragorn sensed that Imrahil had summoned him out of some need to feel that he was doing something to help, not being forced to wait helplessly while his friend and son-in-laws life was battling for his life. Imrahil and Eomer’s friendship had been forged during the war of the Ring and only recently that friendship was sealed in familial union when Eomer had married Lothiriel, Eomer’s cherished daughter.

Stepping into the wide tent, Aragorn saw the price of their victory sprawled across the ground being tended to by surgeons, healers and attendants. Even though Cordoba had been taken with a minimum of bloodshed, there was no preventing the spilling of blood in any field of battle. Seeing his men soiled with blood, bearing the mark of battle in some form of injury made Aragorn think how fortunate they were to be the victors in this conflict. As the thought crossed his mind, he made a note to inquire after the welfare of Cordoba’s injured once he had seen how Eomer was faring.

The stench of blood and sweat greeted them as they moved deeper into the tent. Acrid smells of weeping and soon to be infected wounds combined with the scent of various bodily secretions produced an overpowering nasal assault that made his stomach hollow in disgust. Fortunately, this unpleasant odour was offset by the distinct scent of herbs and potions being prepared to prevent that very outcome. Aragorn was grateful that Elrond was absent because the lord of Imlardis from whom Aragorn learned most of his healing skills would not be impressed at all by their surroundings. He saw elves occupying some of the bedding and wondered how they could tolerate the odour with their heightened senses.

 _Somehow, fresh air had to be forced into this dank confines_ , Aragorn thought as he allowed Imrahil to lead him to Eomer.

  
"I am certain he will prevail, Imrahil," Aragorn assured Imrahil as he noted the pace the lord of Dol Amroth was setting whilst they weaved through the maze of bodies beneath the tent, "Eomer is difficult to kill even for a Rohirrim."

"You did not see what that child did to him," Imrahil declared with no small hint of bitterness. He knew that he was being selfish because he worried about Eomer not only as a friend but also as his son in law. Eomer’s life with Lothiriel was just beginning. It was not right that they had been parted after spending only one night together as husband and wife. Lothiriel deserved a lifetime of happiness with her king and it cut Imrahil to the bone to think that she might be cheated of it because Eomer had shown mercy only to pay a hefty price for it. Serendipity had allowed Imrahil find his daughter a suitor Lothiriel truly loved.

Imrahil could not bear to see her heart broken if she were to lose Eomer.

Although he did not voice it, Aragorn was perfectly aware of what thoughts filled Imrahil’s mind because he knew how much both Eomer and his daughter’s happiness meant to the Prince of Dol Amroth. Any other father would have had the girl married and quickened by Lothiriel’s age, particularly when the young lady had a tendency to practise magic as a pastime. However, Imrahil had tolerated it because he loved his daughter. While Lothiriel might have thought him harsh at the time because she had little say in the matter, Imrahil’s choice of suitor indicated that the girl’s happiness had always been his primary concern. Still, it was fortunate that Eomer and Lothiriel had come together on their own and Aragorn would hate as much as Imrahil, to see them parted so soon after their marriage.

Imrahil was unable to elaborate as Aragorn caught sight of Eomer lying on one of the beds further ahead and hastened his pace to close the distance between them. Upon their arrival, they found that Eomer was oblivious to their presence as he was quite unconscious and still under the ministrations of the healer and his attendant. The king of Rohan had been stripped to the waist by the surgeon. During their march through Haradwraith, their fair skins had been browned slightly by the cutting heat of the sun but as Aragorn saw Eomer lying across the healer’s table, he was rather taken back because Eomer’s skin was almost white. His amour, mail and helmet were heaped in an unruly pile on the ground at the foot of the table, smeared in blood. Aragorn felt a slight chill catching sight at the bloody spear at the physician’s feet. Its size corresponding perfectly with the pierced fissure in Eomer's breastplate and no doubt his flesh as well.

The attendant was attempting to prop Eomer into a sitting position so that the surgeon could wrap bandages around the wound. Not an easy task to accomplish considering the king was almost completely unconscious and in his unconscious state was a dead weight. Aragorn immediately moved to offer his assistance, taking hold of Eomer’s arm to support the attendant’s efforts to keep him upright for the duration. As the surgeon leaned closer to conceal the wound in swaddling, Aragorn caught sight of the criss-cross stitches holding Eomer’s torn flesh together after it had been pierced by the point of a spear. Imrahildismissed the attendant and took Eomer’s other arm as the surgeon swathed Eomer’s chest in bandages.

"How is he?" Aragorn asked once the finished had secured the bandages and they had help to lay Eomer down on the surgeon’s table again.

"Sire," the man bowed his head slightly before answering, "He is fortunate to be alive. Had the spear penetrated a mere fraction to the right, he would have died in his saddle. It missed his heart by a narrow margin. As it is, I have spent the several hours, attempting to sew and stem the bleeding of all the muscle and organs that were pierced when the spear was thrust into him."

Aragorn flinched involuntarily at the thought of how close Eomer had come to losing his life and offered Elbereth a silent thanks that he had survived long enough to reach the chief of his surgeon whose name Aragorn remembered was called Tynry. Tynry was one of a dozen healers that had accompanied them on this campaign to the east, having a reputation as being one of the finest healers in the House of Healing. Ioreth had recommended him for the post and as Aragorn was never more grateful of his skills than at this moment. While he himself was a healer of some repute, Aragorn had enough to do as king and commander of their armies and appreciated the presence of someone of equal skill who could tend to the sick when he could not.

"He will recover though?" Imrahil insistent, wanting a clearer answer as to Eomer’s condition following Tynry’s grim report.

"Yes," the man turned to Imrahil aware of Imrahil’s connection to his patient, "I believe he will recover fully in time. However, for the moment he is terribly weak and in this climate, wounds infect easily. Every effort must be made to ensure that he undergoes proper convalescence."

"That will be no easy feat," Aragorn remarked because Eomer was not the kind of ruler that allowed others to do for him. The Rohirrim lord was accustomed to riding into battle with his men, preferably leading the charge. Eomer had been a warrior all his life and old habits died hard. Like Aragorn, Eomerpreferred to walk among his people in order to understand their needs. However, Aragorn suspected that this desire was born out of his insecurity that he would be an unfit king since he had never expected to gain ascendancy of the throne to begin with. Aragorn had no doubt that Eomer’s aspirations had never risen beyond serving Theodred, Theoden’s only son as Marshall of the Mark. Theodred’s death in the early days of the War of the Ring had thrust him unexpectedly into the role of heir, a position he had never been prepared to assume.

"He will rest if I have to chain him to his bed," Imrahil declared, "for my daughter’s sake he  _will_  rest."

Aragorn let out a short laugh until he realised that Imrahil was perfectly serious and was grateful that the Prince’s two sons were placed in charge of Gondor’s defences during the expedition to the east. It reassured Aragorn that his country was in good hands if the boys had even half of Imrahil’s resolve and intelligence.

"Make some tea of this," Aragorn instructed removing from his belt, the pouch in which he kept his store of athelas and handing it to Tynry. Athelas or kingsfoil grew in vast quantities throughout the western regions of Middle Earth but was often overlooked for its medicinal properties because it was considered a weed. "Have him drink it twice a day when he is able to take food and drink. This herb was capable of stemming the poison from a morgul blade, I believe it will help fight any infection you fear might beset him."

Tynry familiar with how the king had saved Prince Faramir following the siege of Minas Tirith took the advice without hesitation, as he was eager to improve his patient’s chances of survival by any means. The king had been schooled in the healing arts by Elrond of Rivendell who was said to be well versed in herb lore and had confidence that Aragorn’s remedy would do exactly what he promised.

"Immediately, Sire." He replied gratefully.

Suddenly a low groan filled the air, provoking the three men to immediately turn their attention to Eomer’ who appeared to be stirring from his unconscious state He shifted uncomfortably on the table as returning clarity also brought with it the awareness of pain. As he surfaced from his limbo state, he attempted to sit up before the sensation of hands upon his person attempting to prevent this forced his eyelid to flutter open wearily before staring somewhat dazedly at them Aragorn and Imrahil.

"Rest easy," Aragorn said smoothly, accustomed to dealing with difficult patients before. Gimli and Boromir sprang to mind immediately.

"What happened?" Eomer muttered weakly as more lucidity flooded back into him briefly. "Where am I?"

"You are in the house of healing," Aragorn answered automatically. "You appeared to have met a spear that disagreed with you," the king said with a faint smile.

"Oh," Eomer remarked, his brow furrowing as he searched his memory, "I forgot."

Unfortunately, his loss of memory did not last long because when he did remember, the images returned to him like a tidal wave and each recollection was steeped in pain. He remembered the boy child staring at him, barely an adolescent, wearing mail that was too big for him; his face filled with fear because he thought Eomer was going to take his life.

Eomer remembered thinking himself fortunate that he had a choice of whether or not he had to take this boy’s life, unlike Legolas who had been forced into it by accident. In the face of that, he had chosen to show compassion. Eomer had seen what taking a child’s life had done to the Lord of Eden Ardhon and he had no desire to endure that torment himself. Turning his back on the boy, Eomer had lowered his guard and learnt most painfully that there was little room for compassion on the field of battle when sharp blinding agony had ripped through his body.

"He almost killed you," Imrahil declared, filling in the vague spaces in his memory that pain and injury had blocked from his mind.

"I am still here," the king of the Mark responded, his consciousness fraying rapidly before their eyes. However, a singular thought surfaced just before he crossed that comforting threshold causing his eyes to flew open and stare at Aragorn, with surprising clarity.

"Did we take the fortress?" He asked.

"Cordoba has fallen, yes," Aragorn nodded.

"And my men?" He probed further, his voice escaping him in a barely a whisper. He was having difficulty remaining awake but he could not rest easy until he knew for certain the welfare of the Rohirrim.

"They fought well," the king of Gondor answered, grateful that he did not have to lie. "The Rohirrim under Carleon’s lead were instrumental to the swift fall of the fortress."

This seemed to give Eomer some comfort at his absence on the front line and he nodded weakly, before relaxing once more. His eyelid blinking to a gradual close as the tension eased from his face and the bliss of unconsciousness took him away.

"I should have been at their side. I knew there was a reason I did not like children," Eomer uttered finally before the need for slumber claimed him again.

Aragorn exchanged a glance with Imrahil and stifled a smile before Tynry interrupted.

"He must rest now Sire," the surgeon insisted.

"Yes of course," Aragorn withdrew and gestured Imrahil that it was safe to leave Eomer for the time. The younger man needed his rest and they had a great deal to do in their occupation of Cordoba. Fortunately, it would take weeks for them to march to Mahazar through the Splinter and hopefully the interlude would give Eomer the time needed to recover his wounds. Knowing the Rohirrim king as well as he did, Eomer would be extremely annoyed if he were forced to sit out their final battle with the enemy.

"Come Imrahil," Aragorn placed his arm upon the shoulder of the Prince of Dol Amroth, who appeared reluctant to leave Eomer’s side. "He is in good hands and we have much to do. If you remain, you will only worry yourself needlessly until he awakens."

"I suppose you are right," Imrahil had to concede the point. The surgeon was confident that Eomer would survive and he had duties to fulfil at his king’s side.

Once again, Aragorn saw Imrahil had swiftly placed the needs of the man beneath that of the prince. Imrahil had ruled in Dol Amroth longer than any other leader in Middle Earth, save the elves. He was not only a skilled diplomat but also an able commander in the field who hid beneath his aristocratic manner, the heart of a true patriot. His love for Gondor was almost as fierce as his love for his family and there were times when Aragorn believed there was little difference between the two that in Imrahil’s heart.

With Legolas starting to return to some semblance of himself and the news of Eomer’s recovery, Aragorn was starting to believe that things had finally taken a turn for the better.

* * *

The gentle lapping of water against the side of the craft belied the urgency of their situation.

Even as Faramir unfastened the vessel’s moorings in order to cast off, they could hear the approach of soldiers growing in momentum with each passing second. Footsteps pounded against the paved streets, voices growing in tempo, spoken in the language of the Haradrim that Faramir was beginning to understand after weeks of travel in enemy territory. For the last hour, they had been steadily preparing their departure from Mahazar, hoping they could avoid the soldiers when the search finally reached the riverfront and the collection of vessels moored to the dock.

"We best hurry," Pallando declared suddenly, breaking the silence of their labours.

  
The wizard stood upon the stern of the ship, his gaze piercing the curtain of darkness in an effort to see the soldiers advancing towards the docks. He had yet to sight them but his keen senses were aware of how many were coming. He could hear their approach with each step they took. They were speaking amongst themselves now, issuing orders to spread out across the riverfront, to begin a search of all boats since deserters must be attempting to flee the city if they had yet to be caught. All routes out of Mahazar were being cordoned off and if Pallando and his companions did not sail out now, they would never leave the city alive.

"Kirin!" Faramir looked over his shoulder to see the Easterling lowering the sail down the mast. The fabric was soon caught against the light breeze sweeping through the air and billowed outward. Faramir was forced to find a handhold as the deck shuddered beneath him as the wind and sail forced the boat to move a little.

Kirin hurried to the rudder to angle the craft as he navigated it past the other vessels moored to the dock. The bow of the ship turned towards the middle of the river where it was clear and drifted forward at a languid pace. The craft’s progress was slow but steady. Unfortunately, the sounds that only Pallando could hear a moment ago was now becoming clear to all of them. Footsteps and voices were growing in intensity, giving issue of the danger that was coming swiftly at them. The instant their pursuers saw their vessel attempting to sail, they would be discovered.

"Faramir, I need you on the oars!" Kirin cried out, hoping that the combination of oar and sail would provide them with the speed they needed to escape.

Faramir hurried to the oars without question, taking up the task of pushing them away further away from the riverfront. The voices were becoming louder and it was with utter certainty that he knew they would not escape unseen. The sound of water splashing grew louder as Faramir rowed and both he and Pallando exchange anxious glances while their eyes remained fixed upon the shore. He did not need to look over his shoulder to know that Kirin’s attention was similarly placed.

"We must lose ourselves in the darkness," Kirin declared as the boat began to gain speed though not enough.

It seemed fortune was with them because the wind was gaining strength and they were soon moving quickly to the middle of the river. The shore became distant and for a moment, it appeared as if they had made good their escape when suddenly four Haradrim warriors appeared at the edge of the dock. Their breaths caught in their throat as they waited in anticipation for the inevitable to unfold as the enemy, so far unaware of their departure, approached the flotilla of moored vessels. The full moon cast its glow across the water, creating a myriad of light across the surface and betraying them to the enemy when its illumination shone upon them.

The soldiers surveyed the river for signs of activity and it was only a matter of time before they caught sight of the boat gliding across the water, the sounds of waves lapping gently against its sides. There was a brief interlude of time between discovery and recognition that seemed to stretch into an eternity before their presence finally registered upon the minds of the enemy soldiers. Once this threshold had been breached, there was no turning back. The secret departure they had hoped to achieve disappeared with a sharp cry that rang through the air like the ringing of a bell from the highest tower.

"HALT!"

The order was issued only once but once was all that was needed to draw the attention of every other soldier scouring the riverfront.

"Curse it!" Kirin swore loudly and turned to Faramir. "Faster! We must gain some headway before they come after us!"

Faramir did not have to be told twice as he doubled his efforts, working the oars with all the strength he could muster. The effort behind his labors corresponded with the increased speed of the boat that was gaining considerable assistance from the wind. He did not look up to see where the soldiers were because he could hear them. More and more footsteps were approaching the shore as the alarm was raised across the docks that the deserters had been found. He heard another demand for them to return to halt but none of the vessel’s complement was paying heed to that order.

"Look out!" Pallando suddenly shouted and pulled Faramir to the deck.

The Prince of Ithilien let out an indignant cry until he realized that Pallando had saved him from an arrow. The soldiers, in an effort to keep them from gaining any more distance, were assailing them with a barrage of projectiles. Had Pallando not pulled him away when he had, Faramir would be dead by now if the trajectory of the arrow lodged in the wood was any indication of where it would have struck him. Kirin was trying admirably to avoid being hit and still maintaining his grip on the rudder but he was wide open and Faramir knew the only reason he had yet to be struck down was because of sheer luck and nothing else.

Scrambling towards his belongings, Faramir took up his own bow and arrow, carefully concealed by his cloak for most of his journey into enemy territory. He armed the weapon quickly and took aim, painfully aware that he was hopelessly outnumbered but hoping that the presence of returning arrows might give the enemy reason for caution. Perhaps they would pause long enough to reconsider their strategy and allow the boat the margin of time it needed to escape. Kirin was keeping his head down low to avoid presenting too easy a target for the enemy but the action was making it difficult for him to steer the craft effectively. Their lives depended on how fast they could clear this stretch of river, before the flanking buildings on either side of the waterway posed too much of an obstacle for the enemy.

Faramir released one arrow towards the shore and heard a cry of pain an instant later when the arrowhead met its mark. He was nowhere as skilled as Legolas in the field of archery but Faramir had fired enough arrows in his time to be considered a master nonetheless. No sooner than one arrow had flown, he was re-arming his bow and sending another forth. This time, he heard a loud splash seconds after its release and hoped that the one action corresponded with the other. Another arrow flew past him and he felt it tear through the fabric over his shoulder, barely missing skin before slamming into the mast behind him.

"Pallando get down!" Faramir ordered, seeing the wizard staring intently at the shore, watching the soldiers running along the riverfront, determined to keep them in sight. Pallando did not trouble himself too greatly with the exchange of arrows but the soldiers commandeering the other boats on the water did give him reason for concern. They could not afford to be pursued down the Sanara River. Their return to their comrades depended on their ability to move stealthily through the Belt.

"This will not do," the wizard frowned as he crouched low beside Faramir. "They are attempting to follow us!"

"Can you do something?" Faramir turned to him and asked.

Pallando met his gaze understanding his meaning instantly. His eyes shifted towards the boats once more and saw that they pushing themselves from the dock and making their way to the middle of the river in pursuit. The soldiers on board were rowing vigorously in an effort to reach the fleeing craft before too much distance was placed between them. Pallando knew that their escape from the Belt depended on the ability to slip out of its borders unnoticed, a task that could not be accomplished if they were dogged by the enemy at every inch of the way. It was imperative that they returned to the armies of Gondor and Rohan, to report the information they had acquired thanks to their fortuitous meeting with Kirin.

"Yes," Pallando nodded somberly, "I can do something."

"We do not have much time," Faramir stared at the wizard, aware that Pallando had not wanted to use his powers in such an open display but they had little choice. With the Variags and the Easterlings marching three days away from the Belt, it was vitally important that they returned to their army and warn them of the reception that would be awaiting the western army when it finally reached at the Belt. However, since the news had come to him, Faramir found another consideration had to be taken in regards to the coming battle.

  
The Easterlings and the Variags were sending all the troops they could muster to halt the threat of the elves at the Sanara Belt, as was the Haradrim. After their incursion into the western lands, the Easterling had lost as much of their warriors as the Haradrim and the Variags had been hard pressed to enter the conflict. The folk of Khand remembered their defeat during the War of the Ring and the only reason they had sent troops at all on this occasion was out of fear the elves would sweep into their country in vengeance for Eden Ardhon. There were rumors according to Kirin that the people of Khand were on the verge of retreating into their own lands and developing an isolationist view in regards to their foreign policy.

If the two armies met at the Sanara Belt and Confederacy was defeated it would not only mean an end to the war but it would effectively disable the Easterling and Haradrim capacity to wage battle for the next twenty years. Time enough for the Reunified Kingdom and the allies to nurture a climate of peace. A defeat would also ensure that the Variags would withdraw from any further aggression to their own borders and Gondor would be in a favorable position to negotiate a lasting peace. The spirit of unification between all the races of men that Aragorn had so desired might actually be possible for the first time since the war had ended.

However, none of that would come to pass if they did not escape Mahazar.

"Pallando, we need to get back to the others," Faramir insisted as he saw Pallando debating what was to be done. Soldiers were perched on the bow of the ships pursuing them, continuing the assault with arrows. Kirin was doing a remarkable job of steering and avoiding injury but his luck could not hold indefinitely. "If we do not escape and tell Aragorn what is awaiting him when he arrives here, all could be lost! We have a chance to end this conflict, not merely for this war but for all time!"

Pallando was not so certain of that claim since men always found a reason to fight about something and he did not think that this war would alter things so dramatically. However, the peoples of Middle Earth, not merely the Reunified Kingdom and its allies but  _all_  the races of Arda deserved some measure of peace. Sauron and Morgoth’s evil designs had caused centuries of conflict and bloodshed. It time, well past it as a matter of fact, for all that to stop.

Pallando stood up suddenly, unafraid of the arrows and faced the enemy on the stern of the ship.

"Wizard, stay down!" Kirin shouted from behind him but Pallando was not listening.

Pallando could die and he could be hurt but his body was a shell and buried beneath flesh and bone was a Maiar spirit who knew death would only return him to his masters in Valinor. He closed his eyes and raised his staff slightly as he whispered the words that would allow them their escape. He did not need to see with his eyes what would happen because he could see it in his mind’s eyes and was directing the progression of his spell from that secret place.

Faramir offered Pallando no warning because he knew istar was more than capable of protecting himself. Instead his attention was turned upon the enemy at whom he was continuing to shoot arrows, to protect both Kirin and Pallando as the wizard prepared to exert his powers over the situation. His arrow flew through the gap between the boats, there was at least three in pursuit of them now, striking the archer at the bow of the nearest craft. He uttered a sharp groan of pain before falling headfirst into the water, his body making a loud splash before it was submerged beneath the waves as the boat surging past him.

Faramir dropped when he saw another arrow coming towards him and this one was halted by the billowing sail, the rush of air causing it to fall harmlessly against the ground when it struck the uneven surface.

"Pallando!" Faramir called out. "If you are going to do something, now is the time!"

The wizard did not answer but then he did not need to.

No sooner than he had spoken, Faramir felt a gust of strong wind against his cheek. It was cold and far too different in consistency and temperature to be customary for this climate. If he did not know better, he would say that a stray current from Caradhras had found its way here. The wind became a gale and suddenly the sail was at full spread, the rush of air propelling the boat forward with even greater speed than before. The craft began to widen the distance between themselves and their pursuers. The buildings were moving past them so quickly that Faramir could not tell where one had begun and another had ended.

  
Kirin was struggling to maintain control of the vessel with this sudden burst of accederation. The people of this land were more than accustomed to gale force winds but they were usually a product of a violent desert sandstorm and more often than not, such incidents were reason enough for any boat on the water to pull into shore. However, it was clear that this was not sandstorm. The air was cold, almost icy, like it had come from the top of a mountain rather than the depths of the desert. The scouring of sand against the skin was also non-existent. In this realm, wind was always accompanied by sand. It was a fact of life that was no longer even questioned, simply accepted as one would accept the sunrise.

It was more than just the wind that Pallando was conjuring; Faramir realized when he saw the enemy become tiny in the distance. A thick fog had suddenly rolled in from the shore, seeping through the buildings and the streets to flood the river behind them. Thick clouds of white began to obscure the features of the city behind them, thinning out clearly defined shapes into vague, obscure images that offered no recognition. The fog lingered in the rear of the ship, making no effort to overtake them as if it were held at bay by the gale that was forcing their vessel out of Mahazar as quickly as possible.

The strong wind continued until the buildings flanking the river on either side thinned into the outskirts of city. Buildings and streets became sporadic until finally, the company was staring at trees swaying in greeting as the gale swept past. It was only after they saw the lights of Mahazar dimming considerably by the strange fog that had settled over the city, did the strange phenomenon of wind ceased and the sail boat slowed to a more reasonable pace. Kirin appeared grateful when they were finally travelling under their own power, instead of forces he could not even begin to comprehend. For the first time since meeting these strangers, could Kirin truly believe that Pallando was a wizard of great power.

"That was timely," Kirin remarked, trying to conceal how unsettled he was but Faramir was able to see past the façade since he was suffering the same affliction himself.

"I would have preferred to escape using means other than magic," Pallando frowned. "I do not know how long it will take them to reason out that our escape and the strange weather was connected but the Haradrim are not fools, they know there are wizards in the West."

Faramir nodded in understanding, seeing where Pallando was headed with his concerns. "They will no longer be searching for deserters," he met Kirin’s gaze. "They will be searching for spies."

"I do not think you have to worry," Kirin answered, a good deal happier now that Mahazar was behind them. "Dallanar cannot afford to waste his troops on an extended search for us. In three days, the armies of Rhun and Khand will arrive in Mahazar. He will need to coordinate all their forces if he is to repel the attack by the west."

"Will he be able to?" Faramir asked since Kirin appeared to know the machinations of the Haradrim king better than most.

"I doubt it," Kirin answered truthfully. "The faith they showed in him when they followed his lead to the western lands has been greatly eroded by their defeats and the leaders of Rhun and Khand blame him for provoking the elven wrath at Eden Ardhon. They follow him now out of necessity because they fear the elves more than their lack of faith in Dallanar."

"The actions of the Eldar are a double edged sword in this conflict," Faramir commented. "On the one hand, Legolas had ensured the terror of the entire Confederacy and on the other, he is destabilizing their alliance. I never knew that there could be so much complication in provoking an elf’s wrath."

"I’m sure Morgoth felt the same thing after the taking of the Silmarils," Pallando muttered.

Faramir could not disagree with that statement before regarding Kirin once more, "how able are your forces of keeping their entry into Haradwraith a secret?"

"Quite able," Kirin said confidently, "if it is one thing we have learned to do in our history, is to thread lightly and strike hard."

"Good," Faramir nodded, "if we can make the enemy believe they are facing a battle on a single front, then when the time comes for the Bors to make their presence felt, we can give the Confederacy a little surprise."

* * *

There was a part of Melia that had somewhat suspected that the outcome of her lord’s presence in Axinar.

Since Minas Tirith, she had been assailed by this terrible feeling of dread she could not define. At first she had attributed it to what had happened to her at Eden Ardhon, the brutality of her rape, the guilt of being unable to save Anna and her deep longing for Legolas and Elbereth, she had missed him terribly since he left her at Eden Ardhon. However, she understood his need to go because he too, was wracked with guilt and for elves that emotion was not so easily expressed as it was in other races. She attributed it to the elven need to display an image of worldly experience and dignity. Strong emotions were something the elves had deemed themselves above experiencing but in quashing its expression, had relinquished the necessary tools to cope when the emotions became more than they could bear.

As it was now apparent in Legolas.

  
Since her marriage to Legolas and her life in Eden Ardhon, Melia had come to understand that she could never truly grasp what it was to be an elf because of the core differences that set them apart as two distinct races. There were differences she was forced to accept because she loved him and though it preyed upon their minds constantly, they almost never spoke of it.

To him, time was a constant, a companion on a journey that had no end. To Melia, it was the enemy, dogging her heels, whispering cruelties with each blemish she saw appearing on what was once young skin. Melia knew that her time with Legolas was finite. It was an evil she had been forced to accept thought he would never know how much she feared leaving this life when he loved her so much. Like all elves, he hid things beneath an unshakeable mask of elven calm and dignity but Melia knew how passionately he felt things. When she had been adamant there would be nothing between them, his passion had eroded her resistance. His faith in what they could have together was like a force of nature and eventually swept her along with its power.

And when Legolas basked in the emotions he so carefully hid from most, he was indeed a force of nature.

She suspected his anger at her abuse had been powerful indeed because he had convinced Thranduil and Celeborn to dispatch troops to fight alongside Gondor and Rohan. However, he was the noblest creature she had ever met and while she anticipated his rage might have him treat the enemy with some ruthlessness, Melia had never once suspected that he was capable of what she had seen in Axinar. When Gimli had come for her, Melia’s fears for her prince had been confined to his emotional state. She did not know whether or not it was simply her own wishful thinking or some component of elven bonding she knew nothing of, but there were times when Melia could almost sense him inside her heart despite the distance between them. Before Gimli had arrived, she had sensed coldness shadowing their spiritual link. She had feared he was allowing guilt to eat away at him but never considered that his fury could take on such a deadly aspect.

  
When Gimli had described what had taken place in Haradwraith, Melia was shocked with horror. In truth, she suspected that Legolas was capable of such ruthlessness because she had seen him in battle. When he fought, one forgot instantly that he was the fair prince of Eryn Lasgalen and remembered that he had spent the better part of his life killing the dark creatures infesting the woods of his realm and the evils that Sauron had wrought in the Third Age. Legolas had been many things in his life, prince, warrior, a member of the Fellowship and sometimes assassin. Believing him incapable of ruthlessness was a foolish mistake on her part.

When people thought of elves, they thought of the First Born as an ideal, that to look upon them was to stare at luminous beauty born of the starlight. Perhaps it was because very few men remembered the full history of the elves that it was easily to believe they were incapable of bloodlust. Since becoming the Lady of Eden Ardhon, she had taken it upon herself to learn something of her husband’s people with some help from Lord Faramir. She knew of Feanor and the Kinslaying, she knew of wars against Morgoth and the absolute determination of the Feanor’s people in the recovery of the Silmarils.

Melia did not think that the king of the Haradrim had known what he had done when he ordered the attack upon Eden Ardhon. He had thought it would hasten their journey across the sea when all he had succeeded in accomplishing was unleashing the fury of elves upon his people.

When Gimli had told Melia about Axinar, her first impulse had been to flee because the cause of all this carnage was her husband’s intense love for her. She had threatened to go home to the Sunlands not merely because of her horror but of late, Melia had been thinking about the lands of her father. Since her ordeal, Melia had felt strangely disconnected from her life. The only thing that had any true meaning for her was her love for the prince. Even before Gimli’s arrival, she had considered returning home for a time, perhaps hoping that the journey would help her find herself again as well as help her wait out this terrible war in some other place than an ivory tower in Minas Tirith. She had not anticipated the war with the Haradwraith ending quickly and hoped the trip would help her to recover for the time when she and the prince were reunited again.

However, fleeing in the face of what Gimli had told her did not sit too well with Melia because running was something she had done too often in her relationship with Legolas and she was too bound to him to resort to it now. However, Melia was not going to allow his love for her to turn him into a cold-blooded killer. She had enough guilt upon her conscious without having to suffer that burden upon her heart. So she began to think of how to help her prince and herself as well because they were both bound not only in their love for each other but in their guilt over what had transpired in Eden Ardhon.

Because neither could be whole while one was in anguish.

Despite Gimli’s protestations, they entered Axinar and Melia saw for herself what devastation had resulted from the elven onslaught across Haradwraith. While the village itself remained intact, the utter despair on the faces of the women and children left behind had nearly driven Melia to weep. She was tormented because they were suffering the violence that had been visited upon her by the Easterlings under the Haradrim king’s orders. Her sweet prince had killed their loved ones because  _she_  had been violated, because her grief had been so great that the only way he could bear it was to take their men’s lives in retribution.

They lingered briefly in Axinar, remaining long enough to water the horses and take some rest. Even then, they had remained near the watering hole away from the community itself. While elves did not as a rule use saddles, in battle it was a necessity to carry supplies and weaponry. Gimli’s own saddle was of elven design, a fact that Melia was certain Axinar’s residents recognized by the open hatred in their eyes when they looked upon the travelers. Many of the homes had been abandoned and Melia guessed by the difficulty she saw in the efforts of the survivors to harvest their crops, it was from fear of starvation. Yet their fears of famine were not as strong as their hatred for the enemy since the supplies left behind by the armies of the west were left untouched.

Melia wondered how long it would take before their pride gave out.

During their time in Axinar, Melia was not blind to Gimli’s own guilt. The dwarf had spent the entire time unable to meet anyone in the eye and though she didn’t ask, she surmised that he had taken part in what had been visited upon Axinar by the elves. Melia had found herself sliding her arm around his shoulders that evening, holding him close because he needed it and offering him words of comfort as best she could. In the face of this much-needed tenderness, Melia saw the well of sorrow beneath his crusty exterior that the dwarf lord seldom revealed to no one. She told him that it was permissible to show her his grief because they were both wounded creatures in their own right. He did not weep but he purged himself of his guilt and Melia found that in telling him that they were helpless to the whims of fate, began to realize that it was advice she ought to heed herself.

Helping him with his guilt had the surprising effect of allowing her the strength to deal with her own. Perhaps Anna had been doomed from the start and that her arrival at Eden Ardhon was merely a temporary reprieve from the fate that had befallen her entire family. Melia had spent so much time thinking how she had failed the child; she had not given much consideration as to how she could have prevented her death. Until now, the knowledge of her brutal violation and Anna’s death were memories she thought herself unable to relive. However, as she listened to Gimli speaking of his pain, she found her mind nudging cautiously to those events and while there were images that would never sit comfortably inside her mind, she found the world had not come to an end because she revisited them.

For the first time in many months, she could actually think about it without flinching.

In being able to see those events in her mind, other things became clear as well. She had been punishing herself with grief and it appeared Legolas was punishing himself and everyone else for it as well. Unfortunately his method of coping with what had happened was burning the soul of out him and she had to stop it before he lost all semblance of himself. Melia did not have the power to save Anna. She had come to the realization that she truly had but helping Legolas was always within her power.

Yes, what he did in Axinar and the other villages that she and Gimli came upon on their journey towards to Splinter was butchery. There was no concealing that. When this was all over, the stain blood upon his hands would have to be accounted for but she knew she loved him and that would not change. Nevertheless, she still had to help him and to help him; it was necessary to do the one thing she promised herself she would not.

  
"Gimli," Melia shook the dwarf awake.

They were mere days away from the Splinter and had pushed themselves to the point of exhaustion in order to arrive at their destination as quickly as possible. Melia knew the dwarf would not be happy to hear what she had to say but Melia had been thinking of little else since she had left Axinar, in determining what was to be done about her husband. In the distance, she could see the jagged range of the Wall crossing over the horizon waiting for their approach. It had been many years since she had last traveled through the Wall or paused at the fortress of Cordoba that guarded its entrance. There was part of her that wished to see the walled city again, to walk within its bazaars and take in the familiar smells that reminded her so much of home. However, Melia had no intention of seeing it for herself because she had came to one conclusion during her ruminations about the her husband.

She could not see him.

"What is it?" Gimli grunted to awareness, his first impulse was to reach for his axe as he sat up shakily, "are we under attack?"

"No, no" Melia said quickly, in an effort to allay his nerves. "It is nothing like that at all. I merely needed to speak to you."

"It could not wait until dawn?" He grumbled in exasperation.

"It is important," Melia replied, stifling a little smile at his annoyance. At moment like this, she could see why Legolas enjoyed his company so much because she loved the dwarf just as dearly. During her first few days in Eden Ardhon, Gimli’s friendship had helped her overcome her intimidation at being surrounded by so many elves who had regarded her as something of an usurper for capturing the lord’s heart when she was a mortal.

Gimli’s anxious manner abated slightly at that and the dwarf lowered his axe to the ground once more. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he regarded Melia with a little more clarity and wondered what it was she had on her mind that required such an abrupt awakening on his part. He hoped it was nothing that would deter them from their purpose now that the end of their journey was in sight. As it was, he was rather grateful that she had abandoned her idea of returning home though he was still uncertain why she had changed her mind.

"What is it lass?" He asked, preparing himself to listen and wondered what could be so important that it could not wait until morning.

"I cannot go with you to Legolas," she stated plainly and waited for his reaction which knowing Gimli, would not be delivered with any measure of calm.

"What?" He exploded in true dwarf fashion. "What do you mean?" The dwarf demanded, his heart sinking with disappointment because he believed that she had moved past the need to leave. The elf needed her!

"Gimli listen to me," Melia said firmly, her hand resting on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "I have good reason for this. You must trust me when I say to you that it is for the best at this time, that I do not see him."

  
"How can it be for the best?" Gimli exploded. "We have come all this way!"

"I know," Melia spoke quickly, certain the dwarf would burst if she did not provide him with a suitable explanation for her decision. "Gimli, if I were to see him we would resolve nothing."

"I do not understand…" he looked at her with clear confusion.

"It is the nature of our love for another that makes it so difficult Gimli," Melia started to say before breaking off into a heavy sigh. She wished she did not have to be so personal in her revelations about her love for Legolas. Her love for the prince was a subject she found difficult to discuss, even with a friend like Gimli.

"I know that he loves you," Gimli pointed out. "It will break his heart to know that you were so close and refused to see him."

  
"I am not refusing to see him Gimli," Melia insisted, wanting him to understand that she did not make this decision lightly. There was nothing she wanted more than to see her prince, to feel his arms about her and his lips against her own. "I love him more than my life. Everyday I wake up in the morning and I thank Eru with all my heart that Legolas chose me for his wife, that he found  _me_  worthy enough to bestow his love. He is three thousand years old and in all that time, he never loved anyone until he met me. Do you know how  _wonderful_  that feels? To wake next to him and know that he is willing to risk everything just for me?"

"I can imagine," Gimli said softly, realizing that this decision was indeed difficult for her to make even if he did not understand why she was doing it. It was apparent to all that Legolas and Melia needed each other to breathe and when they were together, the passion of their love was impossible to ignore.

"That is why I cannot see him," Melia met his gaze, her eyes glistening with emotion. "If I saw him face to face, what he has done will cease to have importance because I will be so happy to see him again. I do not want to let my resolve crumble in his presence, not for something as important as this. There is one thing I know for certain, one thing I can gamble with to make him see reason and I cannot do that if I am near him."

Gimli was not convinced.

"Melia, you must see him. He has changed so greatly that I fear you are the only one who is capable of reminding him of who he is. You saw what happened at Axinar and those other villages. He is filled with darkness that you are the only thing capable of pulling him back to the light."

"I doubt I will ever be able to forget Gimli," Melia said swallowing thickly because she knew all too well what he had done. It turned her stomach and left hollowness inside her she never dreamed could be worse than the guilt of Anna’s death. Though she had come to accept that Anna’s death was not her fault, the same could not be said for the people who had fallen under the sword in Legolas’ rampage of vengeance. He had murdered to avenge her and no matter how things were resolved in the future, there would still be blood on  _both_  their hands. "However, if we are to have any chance of restoring him to himself, then I must do this."

"I do not understand either of you!" Gimli burst out in frustration. "How can staying apart help him?"

"He needs to decide what is more important to him," Melia answered softly. "His revenge or our future together."

"Obviously it is you that is more important to him," he countered. "You are the entire reason why he has embarked upon this crusade to destroy the Easterlings and the Haradrim, his guilt that he was the cause of all that had happened to you and to Eden Ardhon!"

"I love him dearly Master Dwarf and even I am not certain of that," Melia confessed sadly. "For us it is a simple matter when we are hurt because we know that we do not have the luxury of nursing our grief for an eternity. We exist from moment to moment, enjoying every sensation, every feeling because our experiences are finite. As mortals, we live life and we allow our passions to rule us because we do not have time to deny them. For dwarves, you have little more than three centuries to do and feel everything that you wish before you pass and for men it is even less. We are mortals and we feel unashamedly and in doing so, we have some measure of control over our emotions. Elves do not."

Gimli open his mouth to protest but fell silent a second later because she was right.

"For elves it is different. They do not allow themselves to feel as much they should because their long memory has made them complacent. What was it like to cope with loss? They cannot remember as well as we do because for them, it could have been a thousand years ago! For Legolas, he has kept his emotions under tight control because he was Thranduil’s son and the son of a king cannot show weakness. Of all the elves in Mirkwood, it is he that had to be the shining example because he was the Crowned Prince. Control was expected and that restraint is the cause of all this bloodshed. Gimli, he loves me but he is riding a tidal wave of such black rage that he has scarcely paused to think about anything else! If this were about me, he would have known I would never condone what he has done! He has shown little fear that news of the slaughter would reach me at home. It is clear my presence alone will not make him see reason. It has to be something more than that."

Gimli wanted to tell Melia she was wrong but he could not. Was this truly about her or about Legolas’ own self-loathing at failing to protect her? The elf he knew would not have carelessly disregarded how his lady would have seen the murder of innocents, especially after the child’s death.

Bringing Melia to Haradwraith had been an act of desperation to try and make the elf see reason but there was no one who could do that except Legolas himself.

He alone  _had_  to make the choice to withdraw.

Melia’s presence may cause him to pause in his desire to avenge her but would it make him stop? And how would he regard the friends who had used his wife to rob him of his vengeance? Gimli wished he could deny her words but there was a part of him that knew she had spoken the truth. Perhaps, he had always known that but this seemed easier, to bring Melia to Legolas and hope that her arrival would be enough to halt his anger. Yet seeing her may well do the opposite and remind him why his rage against the enemy burned so hot.

"What then do we do?" Gimli asked after a long pause.

"I will go home to my people," Melia said softly, "I will leave you now and make my way towards the Sunlands."

"You said once that the penalties were harsh for rejecting a marriage arranged by your family and leaving the Sunlands without permission," Gimli reminded remembering the tales of her home vividly, particularly in the case of such a barbaric law.

"That was twelve years ago," Melia answered. In truth she did not know what waited her but nowhere else suited her at this moment, despite the possible dangers. "Not all my family were so like minded. My cousin was a boy when I fled but he would be a man by now and I think he will vouch for me if I return home."

"But why there?" Gimli questioned, disturbed that she was returning home under such circumstances and worse yet, that he was permitting this. "Surely there are other places you could go?"

Melia released a held breath because she had wanted to keep the reason for her need to go home a secret. Unfortunately, Gimli would not be satisfied with anything but the truth and considering what she needed him to do, Melia owed him that much.

"Ever since Eden Ardhon," Melia met his eyes, "I have felt a little disconnected with who I am. Until you arrived, the only thing that held any meaning for me was the prince and my fears for him. I felt numb inside and I still do. I am not healed yet Master Dwarf, though I understand what happened to Anna was not my fault, I need to go home. I need to see the place where my father is buried, to walk along the paths I knew as a child to remember who I am. All I have been for the past 12 years is the Ranger who eventually married a prince, I need to find myself again."

"And what will you have me tell the elf when I see him?" Gimli asked.

Melia answered him and when she did, Gimli stared at her in stunned silence.

"You do not mean this surely?" He asked his voice soft and filled with understandable shock.

"I mean it," Melia answered, giving him no room for doubt by the steel in her voice. "You will tell him what I have said and after that, it is not longer in my hands but in his."

"He loves you," Gimli declared. "You said you loved him deeply, how can you do this?"

"Because he will not understand anything else," she replied wondering if Gimli had any idea how difficult it had been for Melia to reach this decision. "If I am truly his reason for all this bloodshed, then my request should be enough."

"Yes, but…"

Melia cut him off before Gimli could say anything further. "It is the only way we will make him see reason, Gimli."

"And if he does not?" Gimli met her eyes.

"Then we will both suffer the consequences," she said sadly and prayed it would not come to that because it would kill both if she were wrong.


	9. Affirmations of Love

They lingered at Cordoba for less than a week before coming to the decision that it was necessary to continue their journey along the passage of the Splinter, through the great mountains known to the folk of Haradwraith as the Wall. Aragorn would have preferred to remain longer in order for Eomer to recover his strength before embarking on the arduous journey through the pass, however, a week was as long as they dared to linger whilst the whereabouts of the enemy reinforcements remained a mystery.  As far as they knew, the enemy was approaching the Wall with reinforcements from Khand and Rhun.  Aragorn could not imagine a better place for the enemy to catch them at a disadvantage other than within the confines of the Splinter. Though the expanse of the pass could hardly be called narrow, in a military situation it was exceedingly dangerous ground.

Unfortunately, there was no alternative for the western army to reach the Sanara Belt other than through the Splinter and to avoid being hemmed, they had to cross that distance before that inevitable confrontation. Eomer understood this and although he was still weak from his injuries, insisted that they do not hesitate on his account. If it required him making the journey through the Splinter in the indignity of a wagon, so be it.  The Rohirrim king was too stubborn and too much the soldier to allow them to be placed in a strategically weakened position for his sake. 

The day after Cordoba’s defeat  saw its the survivors to bury their dead, Aragorn stood by Legolas’ side as the elf laid to rest the body of Nunaur, Captain of Eden Ardhon and trusted friend of the its lord. His passing was a knife in the hearts of all who stood by and watched his body burned to ash. They could not take Nunaur’s body with them and the elves were not disposed to burying it in the realm of the enemy where it could be dug up and despoiled after they were gone.  Those who were not injured attended the brief ceremony that was devoid of speeches or eulogies. Grief alone transcended the need for words. 

Aragorn stood next to Legolas as the funeral rite continued in its silence and saw the terrible sorrow in his friends’ face hidden by the reconstructed mask of elven dignity.  All traces of Legolas’ deconstruction was no more and it was as if the exchange between them when the elf had unburdened himself in an unabashed display of emotion had never been.  Still it was obvious to all that something had changed with Legolas for the jagged edge of vengeance inside him appeared somewhat dull than since his arrival in Haradwraith.  While Aragorn could still see the burning desire for vengeance in his eyes, he was grateful that that heat had simmered to far more tolerable levels.

Aragorn was not so deluded into believing Legolas was truly free of his need to make every Haradrim and Easterling pay for what was done at Eden Ardhon. The mechanics of hate were not so easily discarded even in elves and while Legolas had confronted his guilt and his anger, he was far from being free of it.  Nunaur’s death seemed to deepen his need for vengeance against the Haradrim king, the architect of all this misery.   Aragorn had no doubt that Legolas intended to keep him promise to raze the enemy’s city about his ears and there was a part of him that feared Legolas making good on that vow.  Legolas had taken a step back from disaster when he had seen Nunaurdie and realized the darkness he had cloaked himself since Eden Ardhon. 

Aragorn feared if he killed the Haradrim king, he would be taking a step towards it again.

Unfortunately, this was death he could not deny Legolas because nothing he could say would justify it.  While Aragorn could cry that what happened at Lebethron and Lossarnach was no different from what had happened to Eden Ardhon, he could not say the same of his wife.  Arwen was home in the White City with their son, safe and protected by Imrahil’s sons who sat in command of the home guard.  Melia on the other hand had been violated in the worst way a woman could be and that kind of insult could only be answered with blood. 

Following the funeral, Nunaur’s ashes were collected and placed in a receptacle so that it could be transported back to Eden Ardhon for the day the elves crossed over the sea.  The elves remained stoic about the grief although it was apparent that his loss was felt deeply.  In the wake of the proper customs being shown to all of the fallen warriors, being men or elf, the securing of Cordoba continued. There was very little to do in this regard since almost all of the enemy’s warriors had been killed during the fighting.  What prisoners there were, were left to languish in the city’s dungeon and among these survivors was Satarin’s son Caifas.

Fortunately, Legolas had been wrong about this being the last generation of Satarin’s family, although it appeared the survival of the line would be exclusively Caifas since his brother and father were dead. The new leader of Cordoba spent his imprisonment in silence, refusing to address the Westrons and there was for a time a debate as to whether or not he would be allowed live. However, with Cordoba’s capacity to fight any battle well and truly broken, what threat he might have been was a spent force.

In any case, they could not afford to linger too long because it was necessary to begin their journey through the wall. 

Like before, the elves led an advance scouting party because their ability to cover more ground than men was unquestionable. They needed less sleep and had greater stamina in the heat exhaustive climate. Although Aragorn was slightly apprehensive about allowing the elf to lead another scouting expedition after what had happened atAxinar, he knew he could not show the slightest hint of distrust or else what progress Legolas had made in his effort to kerb his vengeance would be diminished. In either case, Aragorn was confident that his experience in Cordoba had taught Legolas the price of brutality and it was a lesson that had cut to the bone by Nunuar’s death.

Their progress through the Splinter was made with surprising speed despite Eomer’s injuries. The passage was a little more than an eroded corridor of stone, no doubt having once been the course of a great waterway in times past. The shaping of the world had thinned the channel into a mere arm of the Sanara River and the wear of water could be seen in the smooth walls of the passage. They followed the banks of the tributary, reveling at the sight of water in this parched and arid landscape.  During the journey, Aragorn left Imrahil to lead their army through the passage and spent a good deal of his time with Eomer, who was surely driven to distraction by being forced to make the journey in a wagon.

“Maybe I could attempt to ride a horse,” Eomer had asked after five days in the wagon with Aragorn riding along side.

“Maybe you could rip open your wounds and bleed to death,” the king of Gondor said without hesitation.

Eomer frowned, “I am stronger than I look. I have suffered worse and still managed to ride a saddle.”

“You are not riding Eomer,” Aragorn replied, his eyes facing front with a hint of a smile on his lips. This was not the first conversation they had on the subject.

“You worry too much,” he grumbled. “I can manage.”

“I do not remember your uncle being so stubborn,” Aragorn stared at him critically.

“You did not know Theoden in his youth,” Eomer pointed out.

“Do not be so certain of that,” Aragorn muttered under his breath.

“What?” Eomer stared at him.

“Nothing,” Aragorn said quickly and stared at him, “I am not having this discussion with you again. You cannot ride. We need you healed before we face our enemies and for that to happen you need every second of rest. You were seriously injured. Your insides were ripped open and its sheer luck the surgeon was able to sew you back together again…”

“I concede defeat.,” Eomer interrupted further before he was provided with further details of his wounds. Easing back against the bedroll in the back of the wagon, the Rohirrim king garnered a sympathetic look from the soldier driving the wagon.

“I am glad,” Aragorn said with a  smug smile,  “I had no wish to take more extreme measures of having you obey your physician.”

“Such as?” Eomer stared at him.

“Binding your hands and feet,” Aragorn grinned.

“You would not dare…”

“How long have we known each other?” The king of Gondor stared at his Rohirrim counterpart with a brow raised.

“You will have no further argument from me,” Eomer muttered, “defeat twice in a day will leave a bitter taste in my mouth.”

“You are a wise man indeed,” the former Ranger replied and cast his gaze towards the high peaks of the Splinter on either side of them. It was pure fancy of course. There would be no way that Aragorn would be able to sight the elf even if he and his party were close enough to the edge of the cliff, which he was not.  No doubt, Legolas would be scouting the surrounding terrain, ensuring they were not waylaid unexpectedly by an enemy attack.  Aragorn tried not to feel concern, certain that Legolas was at last free of the savage streak responsible for the carnage at Axinar and the other Haradrim villages.

“I am certain he will keep his head,” Eomer remarked, discerning easily the reason for the reflective glimmer in Aragorn’s eyes.

“I know he will,” Aragorn replied turning away from the line of the cliff’s edge. “Cordoba has changed things for him considerably. He wants his revenge even more than ever but at least his hate is directed at the one who inspired it, not the innocents in his path.”

“That is good to hear,” Eomer said genuinely pleased that the elf was on the mend. It was too disconcerting to see the friend they knew alter so drastically in character to someone they barely recognized. While Eomer understood the rage behind the elf’s actions, like the rest of his race Eomer had been conditioned to see the elves as the paragon of virtue and dignity. This darker side to them was something he had no wish to see again in his lifetime.

“Of course, you will have a bit of explaining to do when his lady arrives,” Eomer reminded.

Aragorn had not forgotten that he had sent Gimli to summon Melia and truth be told, Aragorn had no idea how Legolas would react to seeing his wife.  It was entirely possible that Legolas would be so pleased to see Melia that the circumstances of her arrival may become a detail he was willing to overlook. However, Aragorn suspected Legolas would not be happy at the prospect of facing Melia and giving account of what he had done since his arrival in Haradwraith.

“I know,” Aragorn concede that point without contest. “Perhaps she can soothe the remaining fire inside him. He has coped to some extent with his feelings but it still burns hot inside him. The only difference is now, he has fixed it upon the Haradrim king where it ought to be.”

“Better the guilty than the innocent,” Eomer replied sourly, having no love for the man either.  When he thought of how close Edoras had came to falling and what Lothiriel had endured to save the women of that city, he could very well understand Legolas’ need to mount the leader’s head upon a pike. His wife had been greatly wounded by having to use her powers to kill and it was an ordeal he would preferred her not to experience.

“I wish we had word about Faramir and Pallando,” Aragorn added, turning his thoughts to another one of his absent friends whose fate was no less uncertain than Legolas’ own.

“I would not worry about Faramir,” Eomer said confidently, “if there is one person in all this who can keep his head, it is the lord of Ithilien. When they drew the lots for parental characteristics, it was Faramir who acquired all of Denethor’s cunning.”

“Do not say that to him unless you wish to pass painfully out of this world,” Aragorn warned with a little smile. “As far as Faramir is concerned, he takes after his mother.”

“In his dreams,” Eomer snorted, remembering Theoden’s opinion of Denethor and finding that much of the former Stewards’ characteristics had survived in his youngest son. 

“Do you remember much of your father?” Aragorn asked, since the talk had fallen to that particular subject for the moment.

Eomer fell silent for a moment and felt his mind turning involuntarily to the past, to the image of his father, Eomund of Eastfold, Marshall of the Mark.  The Rohirrim king became silent and his gaze fell away from Aragorn’s. “He had a great booming laugh and he always smelled of the saddle. His hands were hard, much the way mine are now. I remember his voice and how he would tell me I would ride with him one day.”

There was sadness in his eyes and Aragorn immediately felt badly for bringing up what was obviously a difficult memory for his friend,  “I am sorry, I did not wish to upset you.”

“You did not,” Eomer said softly, “I will always feel a little melancholy when thinking of him. It is the nature of grieving the loss of a loved one. What about you?” Eomer met Aragorn’s gaze after a moment; “do you remember your father?”

“No,” Aragorn said without hesitation and the sadness that seeped into his eyes was just a profound even if he had no images to look back upon as Eomer did. “I was but a babe when he passed. I have no memory of him. In truth, Elrond was more my father than Arathorn. My mother tried to fill in the gaps of my memory but they were to me just tales of the man. I have no sense of connection to him.”

Eomer said nothing but it explained considerably the disconnection Aragorn felt with his heritage, why being king was so hard for him to accept.  If Arathorn had lived, most likely he would have prepared his son for what lay ahead but his death had ensured that Aragorn would be linked to his lineage by the barest threads.

“It is your fate and mine that we were shaped by men other than our fathers,” Aragorn smiled, “I do not know if it was for the better or worse that I was raised by Elrond and you by Theoden but sometimes I wish….”

“That you had known him as a man?” Eomer asked.

“Yes,” Aragorn nodded. “It is why I am determined to end this war one way or another. I do not wish Eldarion's memory of me to be limited to what Arwen tells him."

* * *

It was far swifter for the scouting party led by Legolas to cross the Splinter than it was for Aragorn to lead the western army through the narrow passageway of the Wall.  The terrain across the mountain peaks were near unforgiving but the loft height provided a panoramic view of the surrounding area that allowed the elves to discern how safe their comrades were from an unexpected attack.  After a number of days travelling across the arid mountain scape, Legolas had come to the firm conclusion that there would be no army moving to engage them at the mouth of the Splinter when they finally emerged from the other side.

This disturbed him considerably because he had been in agreement with Aragorn's assessment that the enemy's best bid to launch an attack would be before their emergence from the Splinter. The narrow confines of the corridor would keep them hemmed in and placed in a strategically unfavourable position to defend their position.  The absence of the army and the appearance that no attack was forthcoming left Legolas somewhat concerned as to what the Haradrim king was about. Surely, he did not intend to conduct the defence of his country within the fertile lands of the Belt?  From what Legolas knew of the Haradrwraith, the lands of the Sanara belt held the crops that fed most of the famine stricken people of the Barrens. Even though Legolas held no love for the Haradrim particularly in light of his recent actions, he had no wish to see the population reduced to starvation.

In truth, the time spent away from the company of his friends and the bulk of his army was very good for Legolas. It allowed him to clear his thoughts of all the emotional turmoil it had been forced to face in recent days.  The pain of Nunaur's death still burdened his heart but Legolas knew that he would come to grips with it once the Haradrim king was dead. Once the cause of his pain was removed from this existence, Legolas was confident that he would be able to resume his life once more.  He tried to recall the last peaceful moment of his life before everything had gone so terribly wrong and found himself remembering the blissful morning he had shared with Melia in their bed before Miriel's knock on the door had brought the war so prolifically into their lives.

Aragorn was right, he had not spent the time he should have at Melia's side and the guilt ate at him a little but he was certain that she knew what he was doing was for the good of all. The Haradrim and the Easterlings had to be defeated and she had said nothing to stop him from going. Melia of all people would understand his need to go even if she may not entirely condone his actions in Haradwraith. She knew that he had a war to fight and it was necessary to avenge his people after what was done to them and to her. Still, despite his belief in his cause, Legolas did miss her terribly and Aragorn's words had cut to the bone that he had perhaps acted hastily instead of putting her needs before that of his desire to avenge her.

He would make it up to her when he returned to Minas Tirith, he would make her understand that what he had done was necessary. Melia loved him, she would see the truth of his words.

"Legolas," Haldir's voice interrupted his thoughts and tore him away from his thoughts of Melia to the present.  It was almost evening and the sun was setting in the horizon. He and Haldir had broken off to patrol on their own and were due to return to the rest of the scouting party once they had surveyed the area.

He and Haldir had travelled eastward, to the very edge of the mountaintop, until there was nowhere to the other side of the mountain. The elves had found a secondary path over the Wall, which would have been impossible for a sizeable army to traverse, though passable for a scouting party of some experience.  A traveller wishing to avoid being waylaid by bandits or other dangers may chose to come this way and as Legolas examined the track, discovered it was used but occasionally.

"Look there," Haldir pointed out past the edge of the mountain. At the bottom of the uneven path that led from the top of the mountain to the foothills beneath, Legolas saw three riders making their way to the rocky and difficult trail. 

From where they were making their observation, Legolas could tell immediately that they were three men astride the strange animals the western army had first seen in Cordoba. It was difficult to make out their faces for their faces were partially covered to shield their skin from the sand blown wind no doubt.  However, in the manner they carried themselves and by their clothing, there could be no mistaking them for anything but men. Still, there was something familiar about them that Legolas  could not place.

"This bears investigation," he said to Haldir as he nudged Arod towards the winding path down the mountain track.

"They could merely be travellers," Haldir countered even though he was directing his mount to follow Legolas down the mountainside.

"Travellers would choose the normal way to travel the pass," Legolas said keeping his eyes fixed on the new arrivals in the distance, "to remain close to the water. These people are travelling through this path in order to remain anonymous. I would hear their reason.”

Haldir could not disagree with him on that point.  As his horse ambled forward, Haldir accompanied the former Prince of Mirkwood towards the three men approaching the track.  His elven senses did not warn of trouble and supposed it was part of the reason Legolas had thought nothing of crossing the distance to investigate further. In truth, Haldir was a good deal happier with the prince’s disposition since Cordoba although he was saddened that this watershed realisation for Legolas had to come at the cost of Nunaur’s life. 

As march wardens to Lothlorien and Mirkwood respectively, Haldir and Nunaur had encountered each other on numerous occasions during the past and had developed a healthy respect for one another. It had not surprised Haldir to learn that Nunaur had abandoned his post in order to become Captain of Eden Ardhon, since the elf was always in possession of a pioneering spirit.  While they had not shared the great friendship that Nunaur obviously did with Legolas, Haldir mourned his death nonetheless.

The journey down the mountain was hazardous indeed and under the skill of a less accomplished rider, possibly fatal. The trail, such as it was, meandered through the barest hint of a path down the steep incline. Their progress was slower than either would have liked but it cast doubt over the assertion that the travellers were seeking to cross the path anonymously for they made little effort to depart at the sight of the two elves. Instead, they continued at a leisurely pace, their dromas seemingly more suited to the terrain than the horses ridden by the elves. It was not long however, before Haldir was able to ascertain through keen elven eyesight why this was so.

“I think that is Pallando,” Legolas replied, squinting in an effort to gain more precision in his observation.   The prospect of Pallando’s return filled Legolas with relief as it would Aragorn when the king learnt of it.  It would mean that Faramir was also returning safely which laid to rest the anxiety they both felt at his mission into enemy territory.   “It will please Estel to have Faramir among us again,” he added.

“They are not alone,” Haldir observed. “I wonder who their companion is.”

“We will find out soon enough,” Legolas replied, patient enough to wait until their meeting to have that question answered. 

The two parties met shortly after Legolas and Haldir cleared the mountain. Seeing their arrival, the trio had broken off their advance to await them. While Faramir did not possess the elven sight to recognise them, Pallando no doubt had some ability to discern who was approaching them.  The reunion when it was made was a sedate affair with warm greeting and expressions of relief at the same return of their comrades to the fold once more.

“You have become brown like a native,” Legolas declared staring at Faramir who had emerged from beneath the safety of his cloak.  The sun was beginning to set and the group decided that it would not be wise to attempt the trek up the mountain in the darkness. It was dangerous enough during the day and the time would allow them to rest and catch up.

“Not all of us have your invulnerable elven skin,” Faramir retorted, even though he noticed the flawless luminescence of elven skin had tanned  _slightly_  under the hot sun.

“And your guest?” Legolas turned to the third member of Faramir’s company who had yet to be introduced in the wake of their reunion. “Is he a native?”

Faramir met Legolas gaze, noticing the hard edge to his voice and the brittle iciness of his blue eyes upon the stranger.  His time away had done nothing to lessen Legolas’ disdain of the Haradrim it appeared and Faramir hoped that Kirin’s revelation did not provide too much of a shock to the elf’s sense of dignity and self-righteousness indignation.

“I am sorry,” he apologised quickly and noted Pallando’s amused gaze as the wizard intended for him to make the introductions. Coward, Faramir thought silently. “I have been remiss in my manners, I should have introduced you immediately. Legolas, this is Kirin. He has joined our cause in an alliance and provided us with some valuable information.”

“This Haradrim is turning against his people for us?” Legolas said with obvious scepticism, his gaze attempting to penetrate Kirin’s own to discern his intentions.

“I am not Haradrim,” Kirin retorted, taking great exception to being labelled as such. He studied the elf, the first of the race that Kirin had ever seen and could tell the deep hatred that was behind his eyes. If it were not for the fact that this loathing had been caused by what was done to Melia, Kirin would have been more vocal about his offence. However, as such, he remained civil because the Lord of Eden Ardhon was his kinsman and Kirin had not deluded himself that this initial meeting would be anything but easy. “Neither am I of the Variags or the Easterlings, though my people have been known as such because folk have no other name for the people of the Sunlands.”

“The Sunlands,” Haldir’s brow flew up in recognition. “Legolas, Melia’s people…”

“You are of the Tribe Bors?” Legolas asked before Haldir could finish the question.  It made sense. The Bors had been enemies of the Easterlings and the Haradrim for many years according to Melia. Their way of life offended their neighbours whose allegiance had been to Morgoth and Sauron. They felt it an affront that the Bors could deny their master’s right to rule over them.

“Yes,” Kirin nodded; glad to see that Melia had told her husband something of her people, even if she did feel an outcast among them. “I have come here with Lord Faramir and Pallando to offer the allegiance of the Bors to the armies of the west for the defeat of our mutual enemy, the Haradrim and the Easterlings.”

“The Bors are marching,” Faramir exlained, “they will arrive on the eastern front of the Sanara belt with an army four thousand strong.”

“Four thousand?” Haldir exclaimed, making a mental calculation in his head at how much of an asset this would prove when their own armies finally met the enemy.

“If we help you defeat the Haradrim and the Easterlings, perhaps we can finally know peace,” Kirin explained.

Legolas studied the man and there was something about him that seemed familiar and it did not take him long to discern what that was. How many times had he lain next to Melia, tracing the lines of her face, his fingers gliding over the velvet softness of her lips as he gazed into her eyes. He had come to know her body and her face intimately since their marriage and when he saw this man, he could see faint traces of Melia and knew why this man had crossed the desert to help them.

“Who are you?” Legolas asked suddenly, forgetting the business of alliances and war for the moment.

“I am the High Chieftain of the Bors,” Kirin answered. “I have come a long way to forge this alliance. Do you still doubt me Lord of Eden Ardhon or do you see all men with dark skin as the enemy?”

“You are Telemar?” Legolas asked. He knew something of Melia’s family.  He knew her father was younger brother to the High Chieftain and that she had two cousins, the heir of the title, Telemar and his younger brother whom she had loved greatly because he was her friend. He had helped her escape the Sunlands when arrangement of marriage was forced upon her.

The mention of his brother’s name surprised Kirin because he did not know how much Melia had told Legolas about her family. “No,” he shook his head. “Telemar was my older brother. He was killed many years ago.”

“You are Kirin,” Legolas stated with a genuine smile.

“She told you,” Kirin found himself joining Legolas in one of his own.

“She remembers you fondly,” the elf replied.

“As I do her,” Kirin answered. “I know what was done to her Lord Legolas and it is part of the reason why I am here. She is still a member of my house and as you are husband, by definition you are my kinsman.  I am bound to offer you my personal allegiance.”

Legolas did not know what to say. The arrival of the Bors had been an unexpected boon to say the least. An army four thousand strong was nothing to dismiss. However, it was a sobering thing to be confronted by the fact that even in this distant land, honour existed and he wished he could tell Melia that even though she had been unable to live among the Bors, the family she had left behind had not forgotten her. 

“Your allegiance is much appreciated,” Legolas said with sincere gratitude. “I wish Melia were here because I know she would wish to see you and offer you’re her thanks herself.”

“If this wars ends, who know?” Kirin remarked, “I have often wanted to see the Western lands.”

“If this war ends,” Legolas added, “you would be most welcomed to do so.”

“In the meantime,” Pallando interrupted, “I think we had better tell Legolas what the enemy has planned to defeat us.”

“We should conduct this discussion in the presence of the king,” Faramir declared, not wishing to make any plans without some input from Aragorn.

“I concur,” Legolas agreed with Faramir, “let us leave talk of war for the moment. There has been altogether too much of that for my taste of late.  At first light, we will meet with the our forces and we can talk of what is to be done.”

It was a fair enough request for those with the knowledge of what was coming did not mind the respite from the situation. It would prey upon their thoughts soon enough and an interlude until dawn was greatly appreciated.  Matters would become grim enough when they rejoined the western army and moved towards what could be the final battle in a history of long and bloody warfare between the races of men and elves.

* * *

Aragorn was first to greet Gimli when the dwarf finally reached the army moving through Splinter at a brisk pace. When the King of Gondor had heard that the dwarf was within their ranks once more, he was filled with a deep sense of relief because with Melia’s arrival, Legolas would finally be on the road to recovery. However, when he learnt that the dwarf had entered the encampment alone, Aragorn was struck with anxiety at what could have happened to the lady.  Could it be possible that she actually refused to make the journey? Impossible, Aragorn thought as he made his way to the tent where Gimli was presently occupying to rest and clean up after his long journey.  She loved Legolas too much to stay away when he was in such dire need.

Unless she had learnt what he had done in Axinar.

It had always been a possibility that her reaction to the news could garner this result but Aragorn had banked on her love for the elf to override even this situation. Had Aragorn been wrong and if so, what on earth would they tell Legolas when the time came to reveal to him what they had done behind his back? In any case, his speculation came to an abrupt end when he entered the half open flap of Gimli’s tent.  He knew he probably should have waited but other than hearing about the news of his return without Melia, Aragorn was genuinely eager to see his old friend from the Fellowship.

“Where is she?” Aragorn demanded when he entered and saw Gimli bent over a basin of water, splashing some of it on his face.

“I am happy to see you too,” the dwarf remarked as he straightened up and met Aragorn’s gaze.

“You know that I am,” Aragorn frowned, annoyed that Melia’s absence was the first thing out of his mouth instead of a greeting.  “I simply did not expect to see you alone.”

“I did not expect to be either,” Gimli frowned, wiping his face with a clean rag as he came towards Aragorn in the middle of the small tent. “She left me less than three days journey from here and went home.”

“Home?” Aragorn crooked a brow in confusion. “To Eden Ardhon?”

“No,” Gimli shook his head slowly, anticipating that Aragorn was not going to like the rest of his news.  “To the Sunlands.”

Of all the responses he expected to hear from Gimli, it was possible that was the answer he least wanted to hear.

“Oh Elbereth,” he swore under his breath and was grateful for the tent pole in the middle of the space for he needed to learn against it upon hearing  _that_  news.

“She saw what happened at Axinar and decided that she could not see him,” Gimli replied. “She gave me a message for him and said that it would make him decide once and for all what was more important to him.”

“What message could possibly do that?” Aragorn demanded, understandably angry. Not only had he gambled on Melia being able to salve the rage inside of Legolas, it now appeared that because she had been told of what happened in Haradwraith, she had left the elf entirely.  How could Aragorn look Legolas in the eye and explain his part in it? 

Gimli told him.

Aragorn was speechless for a moment and had to confess that the lady had a way all of her own in which she conducted herself. “She risks much in this course,” he managed to say after a lengthy pause absorbing Gimli’s words.

”I believe so but it is one way to cut to the heart of the matter,” Gimli remarked. “The question is, how will Legolas see it?”

“If he loves her as much as he says and if the crux of his anger has been what was done to her, it should be a relatively easy answer,”  Aragorn met his gaze. “However, as I have come to learn in recent weeks, not all of Legolas’ rage has to do with his wife. Some of it has to do very much with how he perceives is his due as a hero of the Fellowship.”

“Due?” Gimli snorted. “We are alive to tell the tale, that is due enough.”

“What we deserve and what we get are two different things,” Aragorn replied. “You and I both know that. We are fortunate to not have been beset by what he has so we cannot say for certain that we would not behave in the same fashion. However, Melia may find that his vengeance is more important to him than his love for her.”

“She said the same thing,” Gimli pointed out, thinking how it should have been an  obvious to her until Aragorn had voiced the same concern.

”She is no fool,” Aragorn said not at all surprise,  “I hope she knows what is doing by this action.”

“I hope so too,” the dwarf confessed with real worry in his eyes. “I would hate to see them pulled apart by this after everything that has happened.”

“As would I,” the king agreed with a deep sigh.

“So, that only leaves one other question,” Gimli spoke up and drew Aragorn’s gaze to him. “Which one of us will tell him?”

* * *

The dilemma that faced Aragorn and Gimli regarding Melia was shunted aside for the moment when Legolas returned to their encampment with Faramir, Pallando and Kirin once again, although it was by no means forgotten. Fortunately, the joyful reunion of Faramir’s return to the fold distracted both the king of Gondor and the Lord of Aglarond from the unpleasant duty they would soon face when they revealed what had transpired during Melia’s journey to Haradwraith. For the time being, their personal business could wait even though ironically enough, Kirin was related to Melia by blood and the alliance that the Bors offered the Ruling Council had come about because of Legolas marriage to the lady. 

Aragorn wondered what Kirin would think if he knew that even as they spoke, Melia was on her way to home.

Such business however, was not discussed at the meeting that took place later that evening after all parties were rested. Aragorn was inordinately happy to see Faramir back from his journey into enemy territory unharmed and was rather curious that Faramir seemed reluctant to delve too deeply into his personal exploits but was freely offering his observations about life in the Sanara Belt. Faramir’s account of Mahazar and its people made Aragorn wished that they were going there under different circumstances.  During his travels, he had never penetrated so far into this territory and now regretted the opportunity to see the Haradrim cities that had their own splendour even under Sauron's oppressive hand.

Legolas, too, was happy to see Gimli returned to them although Aragorn suspected that Legolas was not entirely convinced when Gimli explained his reason for returning home was due to some vague crisis in Aglarond that required his immediate attention. Fortunately, the elf held too great a love for the dwarf to openly challenge that lie and for the time being at least was content to accept Gimli on his word. It was just as well because he would know soon enough the truth behind it all.  At the moment, they had more important tasks to occupy their thoughts.

Now that they possessed reasonably accurate intelligence as to what awaited them once they pierced the eye of the Splinter, it was time to decide their next course of action.  Aragorn had no intention of campaigning for years in Haradrim territories and wanted a swift and decisive end to this conflict. Their supply lines remained undisrupted and their progress had been brisk and it would only be a matter of days before they had breached the Wall entirely. Now that that they had received a boon in the form of Kirin’s unexpected arrival an alliance with the Bors who were willing to fight alongside them, there was no better time than now to end this war once and for all.

Aragorn knew his reason for wishing a swift end to the war were selfish. As king, he should not expect to be delivered from the same sacrifices he asked of his people in the waging of this conflict, but the truth was Aragorn was utterly sick of this war.  Of late, his thoughts were too often returning to Minas Tirith, Arwen and their son. It already felt as if he had spent and eternity away from them. He wanted a definitive peace with the peoples of the southern and eastern lands because the war that had spread across the west had marked him and his friends irrevocably on such a personal level.  Eomer and Imrahil felt suitably tarnished for their part in this war and the means by which they had fought it, not to mention what had happened to Lothiriel in Edoras. The elves had been delivered a sobering lesson that despite that long existence, they were capable of brutality as any other race. 

He himself had not been left unscathed, remembering the terrible spell that had overcome him when the Easterling's shape shifting allies had turned him against Arwen. Aragorn still felt his blood turn cold and his stomach heaving with disgust when he remembered waking up from that terrible cloud of evil and having to face what he had had done to Eowyn during their battle. The lady had held her own in their bout but she could not match him for skill and had paid the price for it.  Inwardly, he knew that if given the opportunity, there was every possibility he could have killed Eowyn that day.

And then there was Legolas and Melia.

Both of whom had been wounded so badly whose rage at what had happened to them had swept them away in a tidal of emotion and there was no end in sight, not might there ever be even if the war ended tomorrow. As it was, Aragorn was not looking forward to telling Legolas that by their action of sending for Melia, they had brought her into the heart of his darkness in Haradwraith and forced her to take measures the elf would not take kindly to when he realised what they had done. Melia was playing an uncertain game, gambling that Legolas loved her more than he wanted his vengeance. When Aragorn told Legolas about Melia, that question would be answered irrevocably though not to the conclusion that any of the parties may find acceptable or satisfactory.

It was not just the elf and the lady who had been so injured. There were wounds upon all whom Aragorn called his friends, not merely ones that could be seen with the eye. It would take them  _all_  a long time to recover from this war because they had all been marked by as if branded by hot iron. Aragorn knew that he was unrealistic about things returning to the way they were before this had all began but he could not help thinking more and more of that last gathering, when they had all dined and shared stories, the night before the delegation from the Easterling Confederacy had arrived in Minas Tirith and changed everygthng with their hate.

He thought about how happy they had been that night, completely unaware that the world was about to deal them a rather unsettling hand. They had looked upon the coming day of hope, a day to herald a new era of peace not seen since Sauron was vanquished. The irony of where he was now left a bitter taste in his mouth and it was during these moments that Aragorn could almost share Legolas' desire for vengeance because it was a terrible thing to have such faith trampled into the dirt.  There were moments when Aragorn wanted the head of the Haradrim leader as much as Legolas for reasons such as personal as Melia's violation and the destruction at Eden Ardhon.

The meeting took place after Faramir, Pallando and their new guest, Kirin, had been given time to rest and freshen themselves after the long journey to the Wall.  The ruling Council of Middle earth, Pallando and their new Easterling ally converged in Aragorn's large tent and sat at the table to discuss their war plans and the part the Borswould play in the conquest of the Sanara Belt. The mood was one of anticipation because the familiar dynamic of the war council had been displaced somewhat at the presence of their new ally who unlike them who were all friends, was a stranger.

Kirin seemed uncomfortable by the concept of chairs and sat down gingerly as if he did not trust them as much as he did the padded cushions and mats that were customary for his people. Observing him, Aragorn could see some traces of Melia upon his face. He wondered how some one so young could have risen to the position Kirin now held among his people and then remembered that it was not uncommon since Eomer was a relatively young man and yet he was the undisputed and beloved ruler of Rohan.

"Those of you who have not met our esteemed guest, this is Kirin, High Chieftain of the Tribe Bors and its territories," Aragorn announced up as he open the meeting after everyone had taken their places and were looking to him to begin their talks.  There was a fire warming the confines of the tent and its flames bathed the room in an ambient glow as all the attendants faced each other.  

Eomer and Imrahil offered the Easterling a nod of acknowledgement while Faramir gave Kirin a look of encouragement.  Aragorn was often amazed by Faramir’s skill as a diplomat and supposed that it was a family trait he probably acquired from Finduilas’ side of the family, since Imrahil no different and was similarly thoughtful in nature. It was Boromir who took after Denethor.

“Thanks to a fortuitous meeting between our comrades and Lord Kirin in the Haradrim capital of Mahazar, we have learnt that our enemy has a name. It was Dallanar, king of the Haradrim who convinced the Easterlings to war against us and Dallanar who orchestrated most of the attacks upon our lands in recent months. While the fervour he engendered in his people to attack is much abated, it appears that Dallanar is marshalling his forces and that of his allies for one final stand against us.”

“Do they plan to attack us upon our emergence through the Splinter?” Eomer inquired.

“No,” Kirin answered before Aragorn could. “They do not. They have not the resources to fight a battle for so many troops in the Barrens, it must be done as close to the Belt as possible in order to take advantage of the crops and water supply there.”

“They mean to take it into the towns and cities?” Imrahil said with some measure of shock.  They were all aware of how vulnerable they were to an attack in the Splinter and were certain that the enemy would know of it as well. To think that Dallanar intended to simply disregard this opportunity when they were so exposed was somewhat surprising.

“As far as I know,” Kirin nodded. “However, my people are moving fast. I estimate they will arrive at the eastern flank of Mahazar by the time your army reaches the belt.”

"We should throw everything we can at them," Imrahil suggested, "draw their attention away from the advancing army of the Bors so that by the time they are aware of it, it will be too late."

"That is a reasonable plan," Aragorn replied. "However, we should not allow them to choose our battlefield for us."

"We need uneven terrain," Legolas added. "The mumakils will come straight through us if we face them on a flat plain."

"I am afraid that Legolas is correct," Kirin added his voice to the discussion, "there are many war oliphants in their possession and should they draw you into the open, they will charge. I believe King Elessar is correct, we should engage them in less advantageous place."

"There are some hills just before the Sanara belt," Faramir remarked, giving Kirin's suggestion some thought. "Pallando and I encountered them whilst we were journeying eastward with a caravan of merchants.  The terrain is very uneven, I believed it could have been a mountain that has been worn away by time.  There are numerous passages in and out of it cut by the Sanara's flow. It could be useful to us to draw the enemy into this place. It is a perfect place for a trap.”

"Conduct our battle there and then circle them in steel once they have lost their advantage with the mumakils," Eomer concluded, finding much merit in Faramir's plan.

"I believe the place you speak of is called Anumet," Kirin replied, recognising it by Faramir's description. "That would be a good place to engage the enemy."

"But how shall we draw them into meeting us there?" Gimli asked, bringing up this rather pertinent question.

There was silence across the table for a few seconds as they debated the question before Legolas spoke up, his eyes bright with excitement at having reached a solution of sorts. "Kirin, how long would you think Dallanar believes us away from the Belt?"

Kirin met the elf's gaze, his brow furrowing, "I believe he thinks you are at least several weeks away."

"That is what I thought," Legolas nodded and turned back to Aragorn. "Aragorn what if we allowed word to reach the enemy that we will be entering the Belt through Anumet?  If it is advantages for us to attack them there, it may also be said that their armies can engage us in similar potency if they believed they had the element of surprise."

"Go on," Aragorn stared at the elf, wondering where he was going with this line of thought even though Aragorn's own mind was starting to fill with possibilities.

"If Dallanar is sensible, he will attempt to engage us in a trap at Anumet by lying in wait for us when  we arrive there. However, if we could hasten our pace considerably, arrive there days before he and his army believes us capable…"

"We would be the ones setting the trap," Aragorn concluded neatly and saw the ripple of consideration moving across the faces of those assembled, particularly because the plan had merit.  If the enemy could be manoeuvred into fighting on their terms, than the victory that they needed to give Kirin's army the opportunity to take Mahazar was more than possible.

"How will we get this information to Dallanar?" Gimli asked, voicing a pertinent concern.

"I can do that," Pallando stated. "However, this time I should prefer to go alone. No offence to Lord Faramir but it is easier for me to do what I must without having to concern myself with the welfare of another or threading lightly."

"And here I thought you were enjoying my company," Faramir joked mildly.

"Then you shall have your wish," Aragorn interrupted the banter between the two,  "I will have need of Lord Faramir here if we are to engage the enemy in combat."

"I would suggest that the cavalry ride first," Eomer offered sensibly. "Our riders will be able to reach Anumet far swifter than the rankers and we can take up position and survey the terrain in the instance there are any forces there that could be a threat to us.”

"I can show him the way," Pallando offered. "It is on the road to Mahazar and will not take me too far off my course."

"Very well," Aragorn agreed, somewhat gratified by how swiftly the details were coming along now that they had a definite plan of attack.

"Haldir can lead the elven cavalry under your command Eomer," Legolas declared, making eye contact with the Rohirrim king. Eomer was somewhat taken back by the offer as he would have assumed that Legolas would want to be the first into Anumet  for such a decisive engagement with the enemy.

"I would be honoured," Eomer said graciously, his surprise still apparent. "I would have thought you would wish to lead them yourself."

"Haldir is capable and I should be with the rest of our forces," Legolas answered, aware that Eomer had cause for scepticism, particularly since his behaviour at Haradwraith was nothing Legolas was overly proud of.  In recent weeks, since Nunaur's death, Legolas had thought deeply of his rage and knew that he had strained friendships on all sides with his behaviour. This concession he was making was not only for the best but also to show the others that he was changed by what had happened at Cordoba. "There will be plenty of sport for all once we engage Dallanar and his army."

A silence fell over the table for a brief moment, revealing to Kirin that there was some tension among the allies that he was not privy to  The High Chieftain of the Bors made no comment upon this however because it was not his place. 

Wishing to propel them past the silence, Aragorn spoke up, directing his words at their new ally. "Lord Kirin, once we have made the necessary preparations, you should return to your army and tell them what is intended. If fortune favours us, when you take Mahazar, the armies of the west will be there to join you."

* * *

When the meeting was ended and the others had departed from the room, only Gimli had lingered behind with Aragorn. Legolas was about to take his leave to inform Haldir of their discussions this evening when he sensed that there was something on Estel's mind that the king of Gondor was reluctant to say.  He had noticed it during most of the meeting with the War Council by the furtive glances by both Aragorn and Gimli aimed in his direction. Something unsettled him in the pit of his stomach though he could not say what exactly might be the cause and certainly, the reason that Aragorn and Gimli had yet to say preyed heavily upon their minds as well. He could see it in their eyes.

Thus he was hardly surprised when he heard Aragorn bidding him to stay and hoped his two best friends would finally reveal to him what was troubling them so. If it was his behaviour, he knew he had a great deal to make amends for. After all, he had put Gimli and Aragorn through a great deal of torment by his actions and could stand to endure some berating if this was indeed what they wished to see him about.

"You look nervous Estel," Legolas said as his eyes shifted between Aragorn and Gimli who had come to the decision that they would tell him about Melia together, since it was both their decision, even if the idea was originally originated from Haldir.

"I have something to tell you," Aragorn swallowed thickly, not looking forward to this at all.

"We have something to tell you," Gimli added quickly in a show of solidarity with the Gondorian king.

Suddenly Legolas felt something cold snake up his spine and it felt as if the room had suddenly become darker for there were more shadows visible to his eyes, shadows that seemed to loom over his friends.

"What is it?" He asked quietly, wondering if Gimli had brought some terrible news from the west. Was Melia hurt?

"You must understand that you worried us greatly with your behaviour," Aragorn spoke because he was better to articulate what they had done than Gimli even though he was realistic that there would be no softening the delivery of this news.  "We feared that you would consume yourself in blind vengeance."

"And?" Legolas demanded, having heard this before. They were on the precipice of something dark, he knew it.

"We thought that perhaps if we sent for Melia she would be able to help you through your difficulties," Gimli replied. "That is why I returned to the west, to retrieve Melia."

Legolas took this rather calmly despite the surge of white hot rage bubbling inside of him. That his friends had gone behind his back and involved the woman that he loved in this ugliness in Haradwraith had not even begin to exert his full power over his psyche. What did concern him was the fact that if Gimli had returned to Minas Tirith for Melia, then why was she not  _here_?

"What have you done?" He asked slowly but the question was unmistakably an accusation.

"She has gone Legolas," Aragorn said after a long pause.

"Gone?" Legolas' heart stopped beating in his chest for a moment. "Gone where?"

"To the Sunlands," Gimli replied. "When she saw what happened in Axinar, she decided she would go home to her people."

"She has left me?" Legolas asked, unable to even imagine this could be true.

"No," Aragorn shook his head, "she still loves you and she does not wish things to end between you both but after seeing what you were driven to do in Axinar because of your love for her, she was determined to halt your self destructive course once and for all."

"And she did this by leaving me," Legolas said sharply, revisited by the memory of Melia's flight after the death of her mother.  She had left him in the Grey Mountains without so much as a word and fled to Angmar.  It was months before he saw her again, months where he was almost broken with grief at her absence from his life.

"She did not leave you," Gimli said quickly, wishing this point to be clarified above all else. Gimli too remembered those days when Melia had left Legolas and how the elf had suffered his anguish stoically. "She says that if you love her, you will leave the conflict now and find her in the Sunlands."

"So to prove my love to her,  _yet again_ , I must leave the army that I have been given command of by my father and by your kinsmen Lord Celeborn and simply ride after her in the Sunlands?" Legolas asked, growing angrier by the moment.

"Legolas, she was trying to help…" Aragorn insisted, seeing the fury in the elf's eyes and knew that it was blinding Legolas to his love for the lady.

"I have had quite enough of everyone attempting to help me," Legolas barked, glaring at both Aragorn and Gimli with eyes like daggers as he spat out those words. "I would thank you to keep your nose out of my affairs, lest there is some other part of my life you should like to dismantle."

"Legolas, you cannot simply leave it like this,” Gimli declared, seeing that Legolas was preparing to leave the room. “She’s waiting for you.”

“Then she can wait until I am finished in Mahazar,” Legolas said icily. “I have proven that I love her more than necessary and if she chooses to run as she  _always_  does when things become more than she can bear, I will not stop her but I am the commander of the elven army and I cannot simply abandon my people because my wife needs another reaffirmation of my love for her.”

“Legolas you know that is not true, she merely wishes to save you from yourself,” Aragorn pleaded. “You cannot let her go.”

“I did not let her go,” Legolas stared at him. “She went of her own accord with no small measure of help from you two, do not think I have forgotten that.”

And with that, he stormed out of the tent, leaving them both behind in stunned silence.

“He is a fool,” Gimli managed to say after what seemed like hours instead of minutes later. “He would let her go? I thought he loved her! I thought elves loved only once.”

“He does love her,” Aragorn sighed loudly, “but he wants to kill Dallanar  _more_.”


	10. Anumet

In all truth, Legolas was not as mercurial as he had appeared before his companions when he strode out of the tent following the news that Melia had returned to the Sunlands. He was indeed furious at her, furious that she would attempt to coerce him into leaving the war by such a demand.  However, he also had to remember that she would have been confronted by the full measure of what he had done in Axinar and that dulled his rage somewhat.  Even Legolas could not deny that he had caused considerable bloodshed in Axinar to say nothing of that child he had killed. How would Melia had reacted knowing that it was for her that he had embarked upon such a trail of carnage? While he did not forgive her for her departure to the Sunlands, he wondered how else would she be in the face of knowing that she was capable of driving him to such extremes?

Legolas knew it was not the matter of the journey to the Sunlands that was so important to Melia but rather the choice to discard his need for vengeance, to let the hatred go and accept that life went on despite its ugliness. As Aragorn had said to him once, life was unfair and hard, with no concessions made to those who lived it. All one could do was take each day and live it to the fullest. Melia wanted him to let go of his hate and even though Legolas knew that this was sound advice, he also railed against how she was willing to force this choice upon him. It should be his choice whether or not he gave up his vengeance, not an act to appease a wife horrified by what he had done in her honor.

However, the more he thought about it, the more he began to see that this was not some vast conspiracy by his friends and his wife to rob him of his due. They were trying to help, each in their own way.  Aragorn had endured much since arriving in Haradwraith and was faced with his actions in those unfortunate Haradrim villages. Even Legolas could not deny that the stain of blood on his hands would ever be washed away and he had spilled much of it. He remembered that child, that nameless boy who would forever live in his thoughts as a testament of what blind hatred could do and flinched at the sad, wonder of pain on his face before death took him. Legolas had known since then he had crossed a line and it was a line he had continued over repeatedly, driving a wedge between himself and Aragorn who tried desperately to hold the army together in the wake of his behaviour.

Gimli had ridden all the way to Minas Tirith,  _alone_  to bring Melia back in order to help him. Despite his anger at what was done behind his back, Legolas could not help but be moved by the affection shown by the dwarf in his efforts to help him. Even if it was ultimately the worst thing he could have done, Legolas knew that Gimli had done it for the very best of reasons.  The grief he saw in Gimli’s eyes at Melia’s ultimatum had been real and not because that she had left but because he had been in some part responsible for it. After a night in his tent, ruminating on everything, Legolas’ rage had calmed somewhat although he still was undecided at what to do.

It was true that he could not leave his army when he was the commander of the elves but then he knew that were he gone, the elves would have little difficulty following Haldir under Aragorn’s leadership.  His leaving was inappropriate but not impossible. Melia’s journey to the Sunlands would take many weeks and in that time, he could be at Mahazar already, making good his promise to Dallanar that Legolas would burn his city down around his ears. While he no longer wished to kill innocents in the destruction of Mahazar, he still wanted to kill Dallanar. That need burned inside of him with greater intensity that all the power of the Valar and Eru himself. The thought of letting the man live after what he had done was so unacceptable that Legolas could barely stomach it and knew that the reason for his outrage at Melia’s actions stemmed largely from this.

He had accused of her leaving him and perhaps to some extent, he was right. She did have a tendency to flee when it became difficult of her to cope. However, they had been married for almost a year and in that time he had come to know that she loved him, she loved without hesitation or doubt. He knew what she had braced herself for by becoming his wife and pretended not to notice when she took specific note of lines appearing on her face, of the beginnings of decay that would see her an old woman in time while he remained young as always.  By marrying him, she had forgone the possibility of ever growing old with the love of her life, of knowing that in the afterlife they would meet again.  She had accepted the inevitable pain and the tragedy of their future because she loved him and the woman willing to sacrifice as much as they both had for this great love of theirs, would not have left him to punish him.

She was trying to save him.

She wanted to him to let go of his hate because he was not one who was accustomed to feeling such loathing without it changing him irrevocably. Humans did not have an eternity to live with their mistakes, elves did and Melia was mindful of this, Legolas was certain.  She did not wish him to become twisted with vengeance but no matter how much Legolas wanted to go to her or to send word to her that he would soon be on his way, he could not. He could not bring himself to lie to her that he intended to leave Dallanar to the others, not after what the man had done to him. His vengeance was like a powerful drug, clenching his innards while it was not satisfied, making him wild with an intense rage over which he had only recently began to exert some control.

Eru help him, he could not let Dallanar get away with what he had done.

He spent the night ruminating about everything that had happened to him and knew that this last hurdle he could not cross, no matter how much it may cost him. When Dallanar was dead he would ride to the Sunlands and bring her home, he would explain to her why he had done what he had and she would understand because she loved him.  When he explained it to her face to face, she would see that it was necessary. Melia loved him too much too stay angry for very long and this advantage he would use to convince her that her place was at his side and that from Dallanar’s death, they would survive the chaos the man had plunged their lives.  Eden Ardhon would be rebuilt and all of this ugliness would be forgotten. As soon as the fighting was done, nothing could keep him away from going to her.

But not until then.

* * *

“Estelle,” Legolas found Aragorn outside his tent at first light.  The Gondorian king never slept late and was often the first in his entire army on his feet at dawn. Legolas guessed it was a habit formed during his years as a woodsmen and Ranger.  As was his habit in the morning, Aragorn was enjoying the small fire outside his tent, sitting on a small stool while he watched the sunrise with a cup of warm cider.

“Legolas,” Aragorn rose to his feet at the sight of the elf, uncertain what to expect after their exchange the night before.  That he called him Estel instead of Aragorn bode well for this encounter.

“Where is Gimli?” Legolas asked quietly, aware of Aragorn’s trepidation and not blaming him for such after the night before.

“He is still sleeping I think,” Aragorn answered. “The journey was long and dwarves are not meant for such great distance.”

“He continues to surprise me with his resilience,” Legolas remarked and then fell silent for an instant as he gathered his thoughts to speak.

“Estel I am sorry for my conduct last evening,” the elf said after an awkward pause. “I should not have taken out my anger for Melia’s decision upon you.  You did what you thought was best for me and I cannot berate you for that, not when I certainly earned an intervention due to my recent behaviour.”

Aragorn did not show Legolas his intense relief but felt it nonetheless. “We did not mean to interfere, either of us but we were afraid for you.  We were afraid that you would become lost in your hatred and I could think of nothing else at the time to make you see that.”

Legolas nodded in understanding. “I know,” he reached for Aragorn’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You would not be the friend you are if you did not. I just wished it did not end up as it did.”

“Legolas,” Aragorn met his gaze. “You surely do not intend to let her go?”

“No I do not,” Legolas said firmly. “But I cannot leave Estel, I simply cannot. If I were to go now, I would hate her for forcing into making such a choice and I do not wish to hate her. She is right, in my heart, I know she is right. I need to walk away but I cannot, it twists me up inside simply thinking about it. For everything Dallanar has done, he must pay.”

“That choice is yours,” Aragorn replied, deciding that he was done telling the elf what to do. Legolas’ final journey towards his restoration would be a road he had to take alone. “I simply do not wish to see you both end in tragedy.”

“We were always bound for tragedy Estel,” Legolas said with a faded smile, “it is an inevitability I have become accustomed to.  When we are done at Anumet and Mahazar, I will go to the Sunlands and I will explain to her that my remaining to fight was for the best.”

“I understand,” Aragorn replied although he did not necessarily think that Legolas was making the correct decision.

* * *

Once the decision was made to force a confrontation with the Easterling Confederacy was made, things began to move at a heady pace. The morning after the war council had met and the plans formulated, the army paused for a day to make preparations. The Rohirrim and elven cavalry were given their orders to proceed to Anumet first, to ensure the safety of the western army when they arrived to spring their trap upon the enemy. As anticipated, Eomer insisted on leading the cavalry to Amunet despite the fact that he was still recovering from the injuries sustained at Cordoba. However, short of gagging and binding him in rope, Aragorn knew that there would be no convincing the horse lord to allow someone else to lead in his stead.  Nevertheless, Aragorn whispered discreetly in Haldir’s ear to keep an eye on Rohirrim king nonetheless. Knowing Eomer’s stubbornness to accede to his limitation of his strength, it was a necessary precaution.

Legolas maintained his decision that Haldir should ride with Eomer to Anumet even though he fought inwardly to resist the urge to take charge of the elven contingent himself.  He could not deny that he wanted to be the first to meet Dallanar in battle but once again, reminded himself that the war needed to be won before he could exact his vengeance on the Haradrim king who had so disrupted his life of late. Besides, it had been his plan to draw the enemy to Anumet and he should be with Aragorn when that trap was finally sprung.  Besides, with Gimli back among them, it felt inappropriate that the trinity that consisted of himself, the dwarf and Aragorn should be broken when they were about to face battle. His conditioning as one of the Nine Walkers was held in too much reverence for Legolas to even think about leaving them when it was time to fight what could possibly be the most decisive conflict in what was being called by the western army as the Desert Campaigns.

The army lingered a little more than a day as their numbers were broken up with the departure of the cavalry.  A few horse drawn wagons and dromas remained but the bulk of the riders had left to begin their journey to Anumet. 

Now that Kirin had established the alliance he had travelled from the Sunlands to forge with the western kingdoms, the High Chieftain departed with Pallando and the cavalry in order to join his own army. He had news of the attack to bring to them, not to mention their considerable part in the taking of Mahazar once the army of the west had ensured there would be no one to stop them.  Kirin also advised that it was best that the western army slept by day and travelled by night. For the pace needed to reach Anumet swiftly, every advantage was a necessity.  Aragorn was especially grateful when Kirin showed them how to make  _lanos_ , a substance the natives used to keep infant’s skins from burning under the harsh sunlight. It seemed to apply just as well to those with fair skin.

It was sound advice considering they would have to double their pace to reach Anumet before Pallando arrived in Mahazar and began planting the seeds of disinformation that would send the Easterling Confederacy hurrying towards the Anumet hills to spring their trap.  The army resumed movement the next evening, marching a good deal of the time at double pace which was no easy thing to do considering that their packs were heavy and despite the coolness of the night, the twilight did not save them from the scouring winds and the constant assault by sand. The pace was back breaking and Aragorn hoped that he was driving his men too hard to reach an impossible goal. However, each night after taking a scant number of hours to rest, they were on their feet again, ready to march.

Very soon, they had left the Wall behind them and the desert began to thin from seemingly unending dunes of sand to harder, coarser terrain of sedentary rocks, with sparse vegetation covering the landscape, comprising of flora that did not possess many leaves and thick stems for water storage.  They discovered new creatures as well, not as absurd as the dromas but odd nonetheless, some even dangerous.  A few of the men who had waded into the water without caution had learnt the hard way of the great lizards that dwelt there. The creatures possessed an elongated head with a snout that protruded outward like an extended finger, its long mouth filled with razor sharp serrated teeth, with tough leather hides that were impervious to small knives and required long daggers or broadswords to penetrate. Their ability to appear on the surface of the water as an unsuspecting log  had caused a number of men their lives in a spectacle of blood and screaming.

Despite the losses, the advance into the enemy territory continued at a relentless pace. Following Kirin’s advice to travel by night had the added boon of ensuring that their presence went largely unnoticed. Naturally there were patrols to ensure that they were not discovered by any of the natives since the frequency of small villages on this side of the Wall grew in number the nearer they approached the Belt.  Those unfortunate enough to make the discovery were taken prisoner for the western army could not risk their plans being thwarted by their revelation of their present whereabouts to those who might have reason to care.

Meanwhile Aragorn noticed Legolas’ thoughts drifting far more frequently away from battle as his gaze rested towards the east. The king of Gondor knew that the elf was missing his lady dearly and wished to go to her but his need to kill Dallanar held him in place. Aragorn could not deny that Legolas had sufficient justification in his revenge against the king of the Haradrim but Aragorn could not help but wish that Legolas would just go to the Sunlands as Melia asked.  When Legolas had killed the child in Axinar, it had been an accident. The grief he showed at the death he had caused was profound and Aragorn believed that if he had it to do over again, Legolas would have acted differently. However, killing Dallanar would not be an accident and considering that an elf fully enraged would unfair advantage over a human, his actions could be considered tantamount to murder.

Still Aragorn understood Legolas’ reasons for remaining other than the fact that he wanted vengeance. Aragorn could not more leave his men if Arwen had summoned him home than Legolas could. It was his will that had brought the elven army to Haradwraith. True, that will was propelled by anger and hatred but his leadership was undeniable. Becoming king or the commander of an army meant sacrifices and Melia had forced an unfair demand upon Legolas in her effort to save him.  At first Aragorn had not thought deeply about this, wishing only to see his friend and his lady reconciled but upon reflection, understood the elf’s feelings on this matter. He only hoped that Legolas choosing his responsibilities over his wife would not cost him too dearly.

Meanwhile the cavalry under the leadership of Eomer and Haldir arrived in Anumet in good time. The hills were nowhere as intimidating as the wall but Eomer could understand what Faramir meant when he called the terrain untenable. Horses would have little difficulty making their way through the meandering trails of the steep hills but  oliphants were another thing entirely.  The weight of these beasts upon hillsides possessing soil that crumbled easily under weight was nothing short of perilous and any commander attempting to bring oliphants into Anumet should be killed as a lesson to others, in Eomer’s opinions. Fortunately, this great disadvantage solidified Faramir and Legolas’ plan of luring the enemy into a trap by making Anumet the battlefield for their coming confrontation.

Upon their approach to Anumet, they were assailed by a great sandstorm which should have been reason enough for them to take shelter. However, Anumet was surrounded by a number of small villages and Eomer decided that the opportunity to slip into these hills without notice during this time was too good to miss.  The journey through the sandstorm was no easy feat however and they remained connected to each other in some instances because of rope, so that none would be lost in the desert. Pallando was able to lead them through the lashing winds to the hills which offered some measure of shelter which they sorely needed after their ordeal through the blizzard of sand.

There were some small caves in the hills which proved to be of good use while they sat out the sand storm and many of them were suffering minor ailments from the combination of heat and abrasion from the tiny grains of sand that had assailed them during the storm.  The storm lasted over two days where the cavalry were forced to utilise as much shelter as these caves could provide. However, a good number of them were still forced to remain in the open since the caves could not house them all. Pallando however was determined to begin his journey to Mahazar and nothing Eomer could say was able to prevent the Istar from leaving the safety of the caves to begin his journey. Haldir however, was not as concerned because he had more experience with wizards than the Rohirrim lord.

Once the weather had settled once more, the Rohirrim emerged from their hiding place and found the landscape scoured with sand but relatively unchanged.  Scouts sent on patrol were soon able to return with assurances that their gamble of entering Anumet during the sandstorm had proven fortuitous since the surrounding villages showed no indication of being aware of their presence. Setting up sentry positions across the hills, the cavalry lay in wait like a spider in the shadows of its web waiting for the arrival of their comrades or the enemy, whichever came first.

Eomer found Haldir’s abrasive manner much like his own in that they both said what was on each other’s mind without needing to soften their words with diplomacy. While Legolas, at least the Legolas Eomer had known before this war, was more guarded in his statements, Haldir had little difficulty expressing himself no matter what the subject. There were more than a few occasions when the ire of the Rohirrim were raised by Haldir’s blunt comments. However, in return, Eomer was no expert in subtlety or diplomacy and had made similar faux pas in dealing with the elves.  Both men developed a good rapport over time and soon began to form a friendship Eomer was confident would stand the test of time.

As the time drew closer for the approach of the western army, Eomer sent out more patrols and his Rohirrim scouts soon discovered that the enemy was converging at the small border town of Wynath that sat on the edge of Sanara Belt. The Easterlings, Haradrim and the Variags were massing in great numbers and Eomer was finally given proof that Pallando’s bid to plant information was correct because it appeared that the enemy were preparing for an offensive.   The wizard himself returned not long after this discovery was made revealing that there was little reason to travel to Mahazar when the enemy was already on the move. 

Pallando’s news not only proved the success of his mission but also revealed the desperate plight of the Haradrim who had been forced to empty out all its garrisons and enlist all its reserve troops to join the battle alongside the Easterlings and the Variags. Mahazar was now empty of all troops save a hundred or so who would keep the peace during this time.  A state of a martial law had been imposed on the city and very few were allowed to leave its confines or venture out after the dark. In truth, these restrictions only serve to aid the cause of the Bors who were approaching from the Belt’s eastern flank.

Not long after Pallando’s return from the Belt, the western army arrived at Anumet under the cover of darkness.  Their arrival in the hills beyond the Sanara Belt coincided with the departure of the Easterling Confederacy from Wynath. Dallanar, having received the planted information that the western armies was making their way to the Belt by way of Anumet, convinced his allies that the hills would be a perfect place for an ambush.  Believing the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar to have just emerged from the wall, the enemy made its way to Anumet with no idea that of the trap that awaited them in turn.

* * *

“Tomorrow, this will end for us one way or another,” Aragorn stated as he and the other leaders of the Ruling council sat around the campfire.

Bright glitters of hot embers drifted away into the night air, carried away on the dry, raspy wind. The fire cackled robustly in the centre of their circle, its casting shadows across all their faces as the mood settled into one of contemplation.  The Easterling Confederacy was a day away and they would approach the hills by the noon tomorrow. Scouts were already waiting for their eminent arrival to deal with any scouting parties that Dallanar may send to ensure the hills were safe for their continued advance.

“I for one will be pleased,” Faramir replied, “we have been in this land almost seven months. Eowyn’s time cannot be far away. I shall miss not being present for the birth of my son.”

“A son?” Imrahil met his nephew’s gaze with a smile.

“Eowyn says so,” Faramir said confidently, “and I have learnt never to distrust her word.”

“Eldarion will almost be more than year old by now,” Aragorn mused, the image of the child chortling at the antics of the puppy Aragorn was forced to buy him filling his mind with such need that Aragorn could feel his chest ache from longing. It was almost as powerful as the need to see Arwen.   “He was starting to make sounds when I left. I am certain he will be able to say words now.”

“I would like to spend more than one night with my wife,” Eomer remarked producing a little smile on Imrahil’s face. “She should not be alone so soon after becoming queen of Edoras.”

“My daughter is capable,” Imrahil said softly, trying to allay Eomer’s until now, unspoken concerns. “She will manage.”

“I do not doubt that,” Eomer replied, “but I wish I was there with her nonetheless.”

“We all have loved ones awaiting us,” Aragorn sighed, “perhaps if we win the day tomorrow, we will not have to leave them again for a good while.  This war has taken its toll upon all of us and I think that I will be glad for a chance to end it finally. I think on some level even the enemy will be happy to see this end, though not in the way that they anticipate.”

“I do not think this land can take much more war,” Gimli added. “They were starving when they came to Minas Tirith. It is worse now.”

“It is indeed,” Faramir confirmed with a grim nod. “When Pallando and I travelled to the belt, we saw the hardship that is running rife through this country. They need food and they need to be able to focus on the business of growing crops instead of raising armies. What they need is a leader who is more concerned about his people’s welfare than any lasting enmity between themselves and the western lands.”

“That will not be easy to find,” Legolas interjected. “They have been bred with a natural hostility towards the western lands thanks to Sauron. Centuries of conditioning will be difficult to break.”  
  
“We must find men like Castigliari,” Aragorn commented.

“Which will be difficult considering how Dallanar rewarded the general’s actions upon his return from Minas Tirith,” Legolas countered, feeling a measure of sorrow for the noble warrior who had chosen to do what was right above his loyalty to his corrupt king.  
  
“We must try nevertheless,” Imrahil insisted. “We must place in power someone who understand the needs of his people and who will ensure that they do not war against us again.”  
  
“The only way to do that is to leave a garrison behind,” Aragorn stated.  
  
All eyes turned to Aragorn, “you mean to make Haradwraith a province?” Faramir asked.  
  
“For the moment, there is no alternative,” Aragorn replied. “I have spoken to Kirin about this prior to his departure. He agrees that Haradwraith must be controlled and that we must maintain a presence within this country.”  
  
“You mean to keep some of our people here?” Faramir looked at Aragorn.  
  
“I do not think it will be as unwelcomed as some might think,” Imrahil remarked. “I have spoken to some of our soldiers and a good number of them are intrigued about what lies in this part of the world. I think given the opportunity, they would not find it so odious to be stationed here for a time.”  
  
“You may have some volunteers from the Rohirrim as well,” Eomer added his own voice to the discussion.   
  
“I think we are being premature,” Legolas reminded them, “we should at least try to defeat the enemy first before we attempt to carve up their territory.”   
  
“Very true,” Aragorn agreed with a little laugh that was shared by the others. “We should get some rest,” he said rising to his feets and saw that his comrades were similarly disposed to disbanding for the night, “we have a long day ahead.”  
  
And an even longer night, he added silently.  
  


* * *

  
Dawn came with far greater swiftness than anyone anticipated and as the camp broke up with the division of their forces, more patrols scoured the hills in stealthy vigil.  As of yet, there was no sign of the enemy but there was no doubt that Dallanar and the Easterling Confederacy would make their appearance soon enough. Aware that anticipation could be a dangerous distraction, Aragorn and his comrades kept the attention of their army focussed upon their duties and the coming battle.   
  
Anumet was a collection of hills surrounded by ravines and gullies carved out by the water flow of the Sanara River in better days. Most likely Dallanar would be expecting the western army to enter Anumet by the way of these passageways and would sensibly take up position in the hills above when he launched his ambush attack. Unfortunately, the Haradrim king would have to lead his own army through those very same passages in order to reach the lofty heights required for his attack and it was during this moment of vulnerability that the western army would spring its trap.    
  
Archers had taken up position above the ravine, their bows armed for the impending assault. These were mostly comprised of the elves, in particular those from Eryn Lasgalen whose reputations as bowmen had no peer anywhere else in Middle Earth. Legolas and Faramir would lead the archers in the initial barrage while Aragorn and Gimli would lead the rankers in the gullies and ravines after the archers had done their worst. Imrahil would direct the cavalry while Eomer and Haldir embarked upon their own mission to subdue the oliphants that would be awaiting them when they emerged from Anumet.   
  
By mid afternoon, the approaching army was seen in the distance and the western army took up their places, waiting in their appointed hiding places for the inevitable arrival of scouting parties. It was not easy thing to hide an army six thousand strong but they managed to remain concealed thanks to Pallando’s magic who ensured the enemy saw nothing they could report back to Dallanar as being suspicious.  By the time the sun had set in the horizon, they could hear the approach of the army marching from the east.  Tremors were felt in the ground giving away their advance as footsteps marched purposefully into Anumet.   
  
Dusk seemed to keep pace with the sequencing of their ambush and the enemy moved into position, unaware of the invisible web in which they had become entangled.  Shadows loomed as the sun sunk into the horizon and the air became charged with anticipation. The Confederacy sensed none of this.  The mixture of stealth, cunning and magic ensured they remained oblivious to the danger awaiting them. Meanwhile, a portion of the western army, led by Gimli, approached the enemy from the rear, ensuring that when the trap was sprung there would be no escape.  Every connecting passageway was filled with soldiers, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Archers lined the walls of the ravine unseen, watching the advance in the midst of the looming shadows and as the day began to dwindle into night, the sands in the hourglass of their attack continued to drain.  
  


* * *

   
The significance of this battle was not lost upon Legolas Greenleaf.  
  
As he stood beyond the sight of the enemy, at the top of the ravine wall through which they were presently passing, Legolas knew that this was probably the most important engagement of the war. If they defeated the enemy here, all the battles after this would be merely obligatory until they reached Mahazar as conquerors. He lifted his gaze and saw the other elven archers running a line across the wall, their bows armed and ready to shoot.  There was no excitement among them, no thrill of victory but rather a grateful anticipation that this bloody conflict was at last drawing to an end. He supposed this too was his guilt to bear.   
  
After all, the manner in which he had led them in this war had sullied any notions of honour or glory for them. As enraged as they had been at what had happened at Eden Ardhon, even the youngest of them knew they had crossed the line in Axinar and had turned from the injured victims in this conflict to the brutal aggressors.  Legolas knew that when the last elf crossed over the sea to Valinor, they would do so with the stain of Haradwraith upon their conscience.  
  
He shook such thoughts out of his head because they would avail him nothing at this point.  Staring across the chasm that separated the walls of the ravine, he saw with his keen elven eyes that Faramir was also poised and ready for attack. The human archers were assembled in much the same way as the elves, though Faramir was counting on his signal to attack because the elves were able to see hear better than they could and would be able to tell when was the best time to launch their assault. It would be the archers that who would draw first blood and prompt the rest of the western army into attack. They would begin the initial assault to send the enemy into disarray.  
  
The enemy was directly beneath them in all their numbers and there never be a better time than now to begin their assault.   
  
Cupping his hand over his mouth, Legolas gave the signal in the imitation of a bird’s gentle cooing. The sound was clear enough to reach Faramir on the other side of the ravine and vague enough to blend into the natural sounds of the evening. Indeed, the enemy below did not notice anything amiss in the soft trilling noise that sounded decidedly bird like and continued on their way.  However, its effect  upon those who did recognise what it signalled, was profound indeed. Faramir’s archers moved closer to the edge, using stealthy steps as their primed bows were aimed into the ravine. Legolas approached the edge with his own bow, given to him by Galadriel during the quest, joined immediately by the rest of his men as they cast their gaze into the ravine and aimed their arrows at the enemy.  
  
“Si!”  Legolas shouted.  
  
The word swept through the ranks archers and gave the enemy below little more than a second to react before the barrage of arrows were unleashed upon them.  From the other side of the ravine, a similar release was made and suddenly the air within the ravine became a deadly killing zone of arrows as each projectile met its mark with ruthless efficiency.  The Easterlings had little time to take cover and as the first wave assaulted them, they could only watch helplessly as around them, their comrades dropped to the ground. The archers had chosen the place for their attack well for this section had the ravine was mercilessly devoid of shelter and there was no where to hide from the deadly assault.  
  
The enemy’s first instinct was to scatter and as they dispersed throughout the ravine, Legolas and his archers had little difficult killing many of them. The lord of Eden Ardhon emptied his thoughts of all things as he trained his eye upon one target after another and unleashed his arrows.  He paid little attention to their dying after he had shot his arrows, concerned only with rearming and finding another target. The ravine soon became filled with screams of the dying and it was not long before the shock of the attack had worn off and the enemy regained some semblance of composure as Legolas heard Haradrim voices issuing orders through the sounds of carnage.   
  
Legolas fired another arrow, tracing its departure long enough to see that it had struck its intended target before rearming his weapon.  However, he paused when he saw that some of the enemy soldiers had failed to seek cover and were attempting to form some sort of line. He observed their progress for a moment, noting the difficulty in attempting the formation under such heavy fire. However, a moment was no more than what was needed to discern what they were doing as he saw them arming their own bows, a mixture of long bow and crossbows in an effort to return fire.   
  
“Take cover!” Legolas ordered, retreating a little from the edge as the first barrage of enemy arrows and bolts flew through the air.   
  
Some did not move fast enough and suddenly the air was filled with cries that came from his own as Legolas saw an arrow approaching and leapt out of the way. Unfortunately, the projectile meant for him found its mark in another and Legolas winced as he saw the body of an elven warrior fall to the ground in death.  The return barrage of arrows indicated to Legolas that it was time for them to leave and join the others for the next phase of the battle.  Raising his head from the ground where he had dropped to avoid the arrows, he heard Faramir issuing orders to his archers to direct their arrows to their enemy counterparts on the floor of the ravine.  
  
“Fall back!” Legolas cried out as he hurried away from the edge of the ravine, “we join the others!”   
  
Another arrow landed at his feet and Legolas looked over his shoulder to see the bodies of those who had not managed to escape the returning assault by the enemy. He could mourn their loss only briefly because the conflict required their immediate presence with the rest of the army. They had completed their goal of sending the enemy into disarray and now it was the moment to take advantage of the chaos they had wrought. Even as he thought this, Legolas knew that Aragorn and Gimli were converging upon the Confederacy with the rankers while Imrahil led the contingent of cavalry hiding in the caves and the small passages connecting to the main path.  
  
Faramir and the humans kept their position on the other side of the ravine, covering their retreat but Legolas knew that they too would soon have to withdraw to join the battle below.  Even now, his acute hearing could make out the signals to desist by the Prince of Ithilien to his archers, the bulk of which were Rangers that had returned from their mission of reconnaissance Faramir seemed to know that he was in Legolas’ thoughts for the Steward raised his eyes to the other side of the chasm and made brief contact with the elf. Both offered each other a slight nod of acknowledgement before breaking away to deal with more pressing matters.  
  
Legolas hurried towards the path that would lead them to the ravine below, determined not only to join Aragorn and Gimli in this most important battle of the war but also because his reason for being these past seven months was finally within reach.     
  
Dallanar.  
  


* * *

  
   
Faramir watched Legolas depart and did not have to know the elf’s mind to guess his intentions.  Faramir supposed that he could not be blamed for his need for vengeance. If anyone had committed such an violation upon Eowyn, Faramir would be similarly inclined to kill what was left of the animal after his wife was finished with it. At the moment, he was more concerned for the welfare of his men. Now that the elves were safely away, he could order them to fall back. No doubt, even now, the archers below were turning their attention to the men of Gondor and the Rangers who had assailed them with arrows to allow the departure of the elven archers.  
  
“Fall back!” Faramir shouted and saw Beregond repeating the order further along the wall.   
  
The Captain of Ithilien was hastening the archers in their retreat; a timely action considering the air was soon filled with arrows from the enemy. Most were able to escape the barrage of arrows because they only needed to outdistance the projectiles. The archers below were shooting blindly, hoping that volume would succeed where accuracy would not. Unfortunately, some of their arrows met the mark and Faramir flinched when he saw a number of his men collapse to the ground after being injured or killed by them.  Beregond was helping those who had fallen, to their feet once more so that they could escape.   
  
“Help the others!” Faramir ordered, reminding himself to commend the Captain when this was all over and followed suit himself as he aided a young archer who had been impaled through the thigh not far away from him.  For him the battle was over, Faramir thought and helped him up as much as he could.    
  
“Are you able to move at all?” Faramir asked as he dragged the young man forward.  
  
“I will my lord,” the archer replied with a strained expression on his face. He was attempting to hide the extent of his pain but Faramir could tell by the control in his voice that it was quite considerable indeed. “I will not fail you.”  
  
Faramir smiled faintly as they moved clumsily from the edge of the wall, slowly moving beyond the reach of the arrows, some of which were falling to the earth impotently for the lack of any real targeting when released from the bow.   Rivulet of blood were following them across the dirt as Faramir like others in the group of archers, left their present field of battle to join their king on another.  They had done what they had set out to do in causing the enemy enough distress to mask the approach of the rankers and the cavalry who would meet the Confederacy in the ravine, face to face.   
  
“You have fought well,” Faramir said when the moment allowed for it. “You have failed no one,” Faramir told the archer who was not more than twenty by his estimation.   
  
The young man opened his mouth to answer but the words never left his lips because Faramir was suddenly splattered with blood as an arrow cruelly tore through his chest, its point emerging into the space in front of his body, covered in flesh and fluid. The boy’s eyes flew open in shock, his voice disappearing into his throat as little more than a strangled gasp before the light diminished in his eyes forever. Faramir held him through all this, his seasoned warrior’s sensibilities uncharacteristically stunned as he saw the archer die. Faramir had seen this too many times, had known too many warriors who had died in this way, his own brother as well, but something about this angered him. He did not know why.  
  
“Lord Faramir!” Beregond snapped him out of his shock.  
  
Faramir raised his eyes and saw Beregond standing before him. The Captain of Ithilien had witnessed the scene and felt compelled to retrieve the Prince. Since coming into service of the Steward, Beregond had vowed to himself to always ensure the safety of the Prince, remembering an occasion not too long in the recent past where his indecision had almost cost Faramir his life. That Faramir had forgiven him and brought him to Ithilien as its captain had earned the Prince his undying loyalty and Beregond was determined not to allow any harm come to him.  
  
“He is gone,” Beregond declared. “You must keep moving. The king awaits you.”  
  
Faramir nodded mutely and released his grip of the young man, making himself a silent oath to return to this place when the battle was done. For reasons Faramir could not explain, he needed to see this young man afforded a proper burial and wondered if it was because the archer had ceased to become just another faceless comrade on the battlefield and had become someone real to the Lord of Ithilien. Faramir believed he would be pondering the question for some time but at that moment, Beregond’s reminder was timely, the king did need him and the boy was dead.   
  
Faramir could do nothing for him now.  
  
And in all likelihood, his would not be the only body needing burial today.  
  
  


* * *

  
The commotion that travelled through the ravine to reach their ears told gave them no doubt that the time to attack was now.  
  
Astride his horse, Aragorn, King of Gondor waited to hear Legolas’ signal and knew that it was time. He braced himself in the saddle and glanced at the escort of horses on each side of his flank. The rest of his army was on foot but to lead the charge he had to be seen and there was no better way to accomplish him then in the saddle of his horse, Roheryn. The animal was also adorned with its own armour, made mostly from leathers that protected its head and its eyes.  The beast snorted in anticipation of the coming battle as the signal produced by Legolas provoked a more cacophonous noise when the bowmen began their assault.    
  
As soon as the roar of disarray was heard, Aragorn raised Anduril over his head, the blade catching the gleam from the setting sun and appearing bathed in a glow of amber, capturing as well the eye of all the soldiers awaiting the battle to begin.   
  
“CHARGE!” He shouted on the top of his voice and rode forward, his horse breaking quickly into a gallop as it carried him away from the soldiers on foot.  It did not matter that he left them behind as he rode forward, confident that they would catch up when the time was necessary.  A group of Rohirrim warriors remained at his side and as he emerged, he knew that throughout the ravine, the Rohirrim hiding behind to allow the enemy to pass were also emerging from their hiding places.  Led by Imrahil, the Easterling Confederacy was about to find itself enclosed from every side.  
  
Whether or not the enemy could hear them coming through their confusion, Aragorn could not say but supposed that after they recovered from the shock of the initial attack, the sound of pounding hoof beats against the dirt would be difficult to ignore. The war cry of his army pursued him up the ravine as more and more riders joined the main body of cavalry at Aragorn’s side, until the expanse of the passage they were travelling became a sea of human and equine bodies, moving in tandem to a common purpose. No doubt on the other side of the ravine, approaching the enemy from the rear, the Prince of Dol Amroth was leading a similar charge.   
  
The walls of the ravine began to blur as they gained momentum along their course, until all other features bled away with only the path ahead remaining with any clarity.  The noise was deafening in his ears, a mixture of human voice both in anxiety, anticipation, fear and the gamut of emotions that came when one was about to face another battle. It was primeval and savage and very in keeping with what was about to pass this day. Aragorn had no stomach for any of it. Battle to him was a duty, nothing to be relished and always to be avoided unless of course there was no alternative and in those instances, he would fight like a newly blooded warrior. As king, he could do nothing less.  
  
When the enemy finally came into their line of sight, Aragorn saw that they had recovered enough from their initial shock to mount a hasty defence. He could see warriors falling clumsily into line, their lances and spears pointed towards the approaching cavalry.  Their line was weak and not quite formed in places and Aragorn acted quickly to take advantage of this momentarily vulnerability. Raising his hand, he gave the signal to the men under his command to counteract this particular defence, having outlined their strategy based on the enemy’s reaction following their ambush.  
  
Upon seeing the signal, the Rohirrim acted swiftly. With expertise borne of one accustomed to a life in the saddle, the warriors of Rohan reached for the bows slung across their backs and took aim at the enemy they were approaching, their bodies so intoned with their mounts that they needed no hands to direct the animals who were thundering ahead just as fearlessly as their masters. Aragorn held back a little as the first barrage of arrows flew past him and assaulted the weak line of defence mounted by the enemy against their eminent arrival.  The arrows were deadly in their accuracy and the first wave saw many of the Confederacy succumbing to their onslaught.  
  
The two armies were almost converging and despite the heavy losses being suffered by the Confederacy, it was not nearly enough to ensure that they would not be capable of mounting a formidable defence.  With the Confederacy line within reach, Aragorn raised his blade above his head once more to offer a final cry of battle before the battle slipped beyond the reach of orders.    
  
“ELENDILL!” He shouted, allowing the name of the ancient king to inspire his men and remind them all for what they fought.   
  
The assault of arrows ceased upon their arrival at the Confederacy line and Aragorn gripped Roheryn’s reins tight as the steed bounded past the sharp points of lances and spear, landing beyond the perilous weapons into the thick of the enemy’s midst. The Rohirrim riders, more than accustomed to all manner of attacks against cavalry, followed suit in good stead.  There were some who were not so lucky and the screams of those who did not pass the deadly phalanx tore through his ears in the agony of their dying.  Unfortunately, Aragorn had little time to see how many had been impaled upon the enemy’s lances and spears for he was soon fighting to stay alive.  
  
Swarming around his horse and the other riders like a plague of locusts, the enemy numbers were indeed as numerous as they had been led to believe. While the absence of the mumakils as well as being taken by surprise had given the Reunified kingdom and its allies a decided advantage, there was no doubting that this would be a bloody fight. Swinging his blade wildly beneath him, Aragorn drove away the warriors attempting to unseat him from Roheryn’s back.  He could tell by the intensity of their attacks that they knew who he was and were focusing all their efforts in killing the leader of the opponents.  Fortunately, Aragorn, who had fought more battles than most men alive in this day and age, had little difficult stemming the tide of assailants.  
  
He swung his blade through the lances and pikes stabbing at him from various sources. Roheryn was almost as seasoned as he in battle and the horse knew how to protect its master while at the same time ensuring none of those killing blows harmed it in turn.  Aragorn saw the point of an Easterling pike coming towards the horse and immediately reached for his dagger and hurled the weapon forward without giving it a second’s thought. The blade impaled itself between the eyes of the enemy, halting the Easterling’s advance dead in his tracks. His body disappeared quickly amongst the fighting and Aragorn turned away because the corner of his eye caught the gleam of another weapon. He swung around and tore the weapon from the enemy in a ruthless upper cut. The schmitar sailed in the air, torn out of the enemy’s hand. Aragorn wasted no time killing him, aware that the Haradrim would do the same if their positions were exchanged.  
  
The rest of the cavalry were engaged in similar actions, cutting down the enemy from their saddles. Aragorn looked above the fighting, trying to catch sight of Imrahil and was disappointed when he could not.  The Prince of Dol Amroth was undoubtedly keeping the enemy locked between them, with no way to escape. Inwardly, Aragorn made a silent plea to the Valar to ensure the older man’s safety. The fighting around him was fierce and had been raging at a fevered pitch since the armies had met but now a sudden silence had gripped them all, a pause that was in reality barely second in length but felt as if time was making its crossing over an eternity.  
  
The silence lasted briefly as the rankers led by Gimli on foot appeared within sight.  The soldiers of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar flowed into the ravine like a river whose course had suddenly been set anew.  The tide of bodies swept forward and the silence of discovery had evaporated quickly, bringing with it a ground swell of sound, like waves roaring against the shore.  The Confederacy turned their attention away from the cavalry, suddenly eing presented with a much greater danger. Attempting to defend themselves but there was no line to hold, not after the archers and then the riders had placed them in such disarray.    
  
Aragorn searched the battlefield for Dallanar, wondering where the Haradrim king was or for that matter, any of the leaders of the enemy.  The forces of the Confederacy were reeling from the surgical strikes against them and the lack of direction was causing what little strategy there had been in their actions to be abandoned quickly. While this proved advantageous to the western armies, Aragorn had never thought the enemy would be so unprepared or poorly led that the ambush of the western army could turn into nothing less than the complete slaughter of the Easterling Confederacy.   
  
After all they had endured to be find themselves in this particular place and time, Aragorn had never believed victory would come to them like this.  
  
 

* * *

  
Legolas and the archers still able to fight joined the battle shortly after the two armies had completely hurled themselves at each other in a roar of noise that made the very earth quake from its violence. He could have been forgiven for thinking that it was about to rain since the noise easily rivalled the rumble of thunder preceding a great storm. However, there were only stars in the skies above, a contrasting beauty against the savage bloodshed that was taking place on the land.    
  
As they approached the thick of the battle, Legolas could see nothing of Aragorn or Gimli and that immediately gave him reason for caution. While logic told him that they were more than capable of fending for themselves. Not having them inside during battle made the elf anxious. After all, they had fought at each other’s side in one form or another since they had become comrades during the quest of the Ring.  For one as long lived as he, Legolas was somewhat reluctant to admit that he had become accustomed to their presence on the battle field and felt somewhat unsettled that he could not see them in plain view.  
  
It mattered little he told himself, brushing off his uneasiness as he and his elven comrades threw themselves into the fray. There were so many bodies locked in life and death struggles that it was difficult to move. Swords swung, spikes stabbed, steel meeting steel could be heard against the gruesome sound of flesh tearing under the blade and the screams following it. He saw faces covered in blood, the dead piling up around their feet and knew that no one would leave the field of battle unsoiled or unscathed from what they had wrought today.  
  
This is what he had wanted was it not? Legolas asked as he swung his blade at an advancing Easterling warrior and cut the man in half by splitting his belly open. The enemy cried out in pain as blood splattered, some of it smearing Legolas across the chest. The elf wiped the gore from his chin and continued onward, barely wasting a second thought on an opponent who as far as he was concerned was already dead, before moving on to another.   
  
This was the end that he had desired, ever since he had convinced his father and Lord Celeborn that it was vital for them to take up the cause of battle against the Easterlings and the Southrons following the destruction at Eden Ardhon. It was for their safety, if they wished to remain in Middle Earth a little longer.  However, in his heart he knew that his reason for bringing the elves into this conflict had little to do with protection and more to quench the burning desire for vengeance that had paralysed his thoughts since learning what had taken place in his realm.    
  
He thought seeing this would make everything he had endured since entering Haradwraith worth the effort. He knew what he had become, he was not deaf to the words of his friends, to their altered perception of him, he even knew that on some level that Melia was right in trying to force him away from the battle. However, now that the moment was upon him, now that they were on the eve of the most decisive victory of the Haradrim campaign, Legolas found his desire for vengeance had dulled in the face of all the blood spilled. It was hard to think of vengeance when the faces on the ground, bleeding into the dirt, belonging to the enemy and to his comrades, did not seem so different from one another.  
  
His ruminations were interrupted by the appearance of a Haradrim warrior before him. The soldier clad in armour that was obviously too big and ornate for him, had fallen to the ground at Legolas’ feet. The elf’s first instinct was to strike but the face that looked up at him, smeared in blood and dirt was wide eyed with fear. Legolas estimated that the boy was no more than sixteen if that. His eyes were brimming with tears and the stench of him told Legolas that it was not so long ago that the boy had retched over himself.   
  
It would be so easy to kill him, to end his life now before he became an adult who had no doubt been taught to hate the enemies of Sauron since the day of his birth. However, too many times already had Legolas used that particular argument to kill and it was no longer able to salve his conscience.  He knew that in desperation the Haradrim had been forced to recruit vigorously to fill their ranks. However, he had no idea that they were snatching children off the street to fight the seasoned and battle hardened warriors of the west.  Legolas had already killed one child in this war. He was not about to kill another.  
  
“Go,” he told the boy while eyeing him cautiously, remembering what had happened to Eomer.  
  
The boy’s expression showed his shock but there was little time to reach when suddenly, Legolas heard a new voice shouting at him. His memory of his encounter with the Haradrim king at Ithilien was branded into his mind and so there was no doubt who had spoken.    
  
Dallanar glared at Legolas, a mixture of fear and rage on his face and hissed menacingly.   
  
“Get away from my son!” 


	11. Mahazar

Eowyn had decided that she did not like being pregnant at all.

Aside from the physical limitations it placed upon her body, this business of caring for another life was rather a daunting one. She knew that it was pure foolishness of course, since she had been looking forward to the birth of her babe since learning of her pregnancy, however as the day drew closer, she began to question what sort of mother she would make. Very little about Eomund and Theodwyn’s daughter was as a woman should be. Eowyn knew that she was hardly the picture of the proper noble woman. Noblewomen of her lineage did not ride into battle dressed as a Rohirrim warrior, nor did they embark upon quests to fight ancient evils and they certainly had no business defending their homes alongside their men. With all these deficiencies, in mind, how could she even think of becoming a mother?

There was no doubt that Faramir would be an excellent parent. In the brief time they had shared together before he was forced to embark upon the conquest of Haradwraith, he had spoken of how he would ensure that their child never have to endure the things he had with Denethor. In some sense, Eowyn had the feeling that he would be the more sensitive of the two in regards to their offspring, which was just as well since she had no patience with subtlety. Still, a mother was supposed to warm, nurturing and a comfort to her children. Eowyn had none of these things! Oh what was she thinking when she thought herself fit for motherhood?

"I cannot have this child," she announced quite suddenly to Arwen, whilst they were both sitting on a balcony overlooking Minas Tirith. In recent weeks, it had become more difficult for Eowyn to maintain the mobility she was accustomed to, leading Arwen to suggest that they spent their time here since it would make Eowyn feel less cloistered and still apart of the world.

Arwen looked up startled.

"I cannot have this child," Eowyn repeated herself. "I will make a terrible mother!"

 _Oh this is terribly familiar_ , Arwen thought to herself as she composed her thoughts to formulate a suitable response.

She thought of how Aragorn had dealt with the same question and was forced to stifle the smile when she recalled that by this time in her pregnancy with Eldarion, she had already reduced her husband to a bundle of nerves who could only gibber nonsensically when she put forward such questions. She wondered how the man who had little trouble with orc slaying could turn white with fear each time she questioned him if she were becoming too fat.

"You will make a wonderful mother," Arwen spoke in that voice that so many around her found terrible comforting, even if she did not know it herself.

"No I will not," Eowyn declared, her cheeks flushed with anxiety, "I remember my own and I am nothing like her!"

"No,’ Arwen said sympathetically, "you are you and that is more than enough for any child to be very fortunate indeed. Your feelings are natural. The closer you are to your time, the more you are with worries about what will happen when the babe does arrive. All women bearing a child at one time or another feels what you feel. Motherhood is about doubting oneself and blundering through the rest to find the best way. I cannot say that I know you will be a wonderful mother but I do know you and that gives me a great deal of faith in how you will raise your child."

Eowyn met her gaze, softening considerably at Arwen’s kind words.

"You are a good friend," Eowyn said emotionally, conceding that Arwen was probably correct in assuming that her feelings had a good deal to do with her condition. "I only wish Faramir were here."

"I have no doubt that he probably feels the same as you," Arwen returned, feeling a pang of sadness that the Prince of Ithilien was not absent for this momentous occasion. While she missed Aragorn herself, Arwen was grateful that Aragorn had been present during Eldarion’s birth.

"How do you think they fare?" Eowyn asked, easing back into her chair because her lower back was aching and the needlepoint she had been working on was not improving her disposition. Her hands felt especially clumsy today as if her body was concerned with other matters and not devoting itself to the accuracy she needed for the work.

"I do not know," Arwen answered honestly and hated it that she could give Eowyn a no firmer answer than that.

"I hope Melia was able to help Legolas," Eowyn remarked, flinching in her seat once more.  _Curse it_ , why could she not feel slightly comfortable in his chair?

"I doubt anyone can help Legolas if he does not wish it," Arwen replied sadly, disagreeing with Melia’s decision to go to front lines to face Legolas. Arwen knew the elf and she knew that when his mind was set, very little would alter it unless he saw reason for it to change. His stubbornness was the stuff of legend and Arwen feared that Melia’s arrival at the battlefield would only complicate the situation, not improve it.

"Oh," Eowyn said suddenly, causing Arwen’s eyes to shift from the vista of the White City to meet the young woman’s own.

Eowyn’s expression was one of quiet contemplation but her body language told Arwen that the thoughts running through her head could be anything but calm. She had sat up straight in her chair, almost rigid as a matter a fact. Her brow had furrowed over her eyes and her gaze though looking straight at Arwen, did not see the elf queen.

"What is it?" Arwen asked with alarm when suddenly, what sounded like water dripping against stone caught her attention.

She honed in on the sound almost immediately, the advantage of elven hearing allowing for such precision. A puddle was forming beneath Eowyn’s chair, clear fluid wetting the marble in an expanding pool. Arwen’s eyes widened, three thousand years of poise suddenly vanishing in an instant at the realisation that Eowyn’s time was no longer near, it was now.

"I think my time has come," Eowyn spoke, stating the obvious.

"I believe you are right," Arwen said on her feet and at Eowyn’s side

"I was merely being rhetorical when I question my fitness for motherhood you know," Eowyn said as Arwen helped her to from the chair, "I had no idea that Eru was listening."

"I assumed as much," Arwen answered. "However, I have found that Eru has an odd sense of humour in situations like this."

"Yes," Eowyn nodded mutely as they made their way off the balcony slowly, "if I knew he was in the mood to grant requests, I would have asked him to have Faramir bare this baby."

* * *

This was not his first sighting of the great beasts, but their power to leave his breathless had not altered one wit.

Like the ambush awaiting Dallanar's forces in Anumet, the business of dealing with the remaining forces of the confederacy was also conducted under a tight shroud of secrecy. Aragorn had been insistent that they keep from harming the oliphants if possible and it was a view shared by Eomer as he lead the Rohirrim and the elven cavalry towards the enemy with all the arts of stealth at their disposal. The hour was growing late and the enemy had set up camp for the night, their animals left to graze on the meagre vegetation to be found in this parched terrain as well as the enormous supplies of food that was surely necessary to feed such beasts.

The beasts stirred but slightly, their long noses undoubtedly facilitating a heightened sense of smell but not enough so that they were able to discern danger as of yet. Danger to the oliphants was something they could sense or see, the less tangible instincts that allowed man dominance over the beasts were lost to them and so while they could sense the approach of others, they were unable to discern if there was need for caution. The elves had kept close eye on the encampment once the darkness descended, watching the humans as they went about their business, preparing for a battle that had already been pre-empted without their knowledge.

They watched carefully as the enemy prepared for their evening repose, leaving their animals to gaze without the slightest inkling that the enemy they had marched to ambush had already arrived and were keeping them under tight scrutiny in the prelude to their own plans. Once the oliphants were left to graze and the attention of the army was fixed upon the business of the morning, the elven scouts returned to the main body of the cavalry and reported their findings. Eomer and Haldir reached a silent agreement that there was no longer any reason to wait and with the rest of the western army engaging the Confederacy, they were needed elsewhere once their task here was done.

Instead of charging, they moved in silently, a difficult thing to accomplish on horseback but between them, the Rohirrim and the elves knew a great deal about advancing in silence. They waited until the sun had truly set upon this warm and arid land, until the scourging winds began to take the place of heated air. The cavalry divided themselves in their advance. Haldir led one half of their forces towards the oliphants to ensure that when the alarm was raised, they would be able to sever the path between the enemy and the beasts. Keeping the Confederacy away from the oliphants was the only way to ensure that the cavalry was not forced to engage the beasts because in such an instance, they would have no choice but to harm the animals.

When the oliphants became increasingly agitated by their looming presence, Eomer knew that they could not longer delay their advance by attempting to remain cloaked in stealth. Fortunately, they had crossed enough distance to ensure that it no longer mattered if they abandoned their covert approach and continued ahead in a full frontal assault. They had covered enough distance to ensure that the enemy was no longer capable of reaching their beasts without encountering the elves and without the oliphants, the remaining Confederacy forces were extremely vulnerable to the might of Eomer's formidable Rohirrimwarriors.

"ROHIRRIM!" Eomer cried out, his voice sailing across the night and shattering the peaceful twilight irrevocably. "CHARGE!"

The elves were far more discreet, since the success of their mission depended on severing the enemy's ability to reach their beasts. However, Eomer's war cry had ensured that the attention of every warrior in the Confederacy encampment was fixed upon the approaching Rohirrim cavalry and not the silent approach of the elves that were cutting off their only means of defence. Within minutes of Eomer's call to charge, the encampment came to a frantic awakening as the alarm of danger was raised. Excited voices in a mixture of languages, Easterling, Khand and Haradrim meshed clumsily into a cacophony of panic, particularly when they realised that the ambush had been far better coordinated than their efforts to rise to the occasion.

Eomer's mount was one of the first to reach the encampment and the disarray caused by their sudden appearance was extreme. Enemy soldiers were hurrying across the camp, making their way towards the mumakils only to bar by charging elven warriors who were making their presence felt most prolifically. Arrows flew through the air from exquisitely crafted elven bows, cutting down the enemy who were now beginning to sense the full scope of their predicament. Eomer saw a Haradrim warrior rushing at him with a spear and immediately unsheathed his sword to meet the weapon by the time it reached him.

Swinging his blade hard across, the sword dug into the stems of the spear and split the wood easily. The force of his attack tore the weapon from the Haradrim's hands and he finished the contest of battle with a sharp thrust through the enemy's chest. The soldier let out a sharp cry of pain before tumbling into the dirt beneath Eomer's line of sight. Sweeping his gaze across the battlefield, he saw the Rohirrim swarming across the encampment, cutting down the Confederacy soldiers who were trying desperately to reach their weapons to mount some form of defence. Some did manage to arm themselves but most were falling beneath the onslaught of blade, spear and arrow that slashing away at the night air and connecting with flesh.

Eomer saw the enemy attempting to reach the oliphants and knew that there would be elves to greet them when they made the effort. Still, good portions of the Confederacy's warriors were making the effort and may prove fortunate enough to reach the beasts. It was a gamble Eomer was unwilling to take and immediately issued orders to the nearest riders to intercept them. Digging his heels into the flanks of his mount, the horse bolted forward, falling immediately into pursuit of the men hurrying away from the camp towards their beasts.

With his blade brandished, Eomer and the Rohirrim cut down their numbers, enabling the elves to cordon off the routes to the beasts as well as forming a defensive perimeter through which none of the Confederacy could break. Eomer and Haldir had spent days engaged in the business of formulating this particular strategy, aware that the enemy's first inclination would be to reach their oliphants. The Easterling relied heavily upon their mumakil cavalry to win their battles. The sheer size of the beasts allowed them to trample any opposition into the ground before their rankers moved in for the final assault. Unlike the Haradrim who were fierce fighters on foot or on horseback, the Easterlings seemed to rely too much on the beasts and it was this observation of their battle tactics that allowed Eomer and Haldir to create a plan that would cut away that advantage when they needed it most.

Drawing the conclusion that they would not reach their mounts unless they defeated the enemy on horseback, Eomer noticed some of the Easterling breaking off from the main group attempting to reach the oliphants. He caught sight of weapons under the moonlight, the curvature of the heavy scimitars, sharp lances and pikes upon which many a cavalryman had met his end, turning their deadly eye upon the Rohirrim.

Eomer's eye caught sight of something moving at the far corner of his vision and swung around in time to see a scimitar coming for his horse. The king of the Mark leaned forward, halting the blow would have surely killed his horse and forced back the weapon with all the strength he could muster. This was considerably easy to do since for a cavalryman there was no greater sin that attacking his horse and he reacted with unbidden savagery. Slashing his sword in a crisscross movement that saw blood splatter across the guards on his legs and across the flank of his steed, Eomer sent his would be attacker tumbling into the dark and was satisfied when he did not return.

Raising his eye to the field of battle, he saw similar struggles taking place across the field as his Rohirrim warriors defended themselves against the enemy who were now coming at them at force. Unfortunately for the Easterlings, the bulk of their number had entered Anumet and there were simply not enough of them to defend against the large body of Rohirrim cavalrymen. Eomer felt a twinge of sorrow at seeing so many die because he was a warrior. Though most would not know it, there was a difference between being a warrior and a soldier. A soldier fought for a country and warrior fought for a cause. He was a soldier first but he was also enough of a warrior to be saddened at seeing the deaths of so many men who had fought valiantly under crushing odds.

The Confederacy was defeated but that would not stop them from fighting even if they knew it.

* * *

Whilst the Rohirrim ensured that the enemy was suitably distracted, the elves were advancing steadily and stealthily upon the mumakils. The elves with their ability to communicate with animals had been the cornerstone of Eomer and Haldir's plan because Aragorn had made it clear that he did not wish the creatures harmed if it could be avoided. The oliphants were formidable indeed but they no more deserved to be butchered than horses were during the battle. Haldir respected the Elfstone's decision but was certain that his decision was not entirely, altruistic. While these beasts remained in existence, they would provide the Easterlings with a formidable weapon. It was to the benefit of the western army that they learn all they could about the creatures and their vulnerabilities, to saw nothing of commanding a herd for their own use.

Following Eomer's loud cry of battle, whose purpose was not only to act as a signal to his men but also to draw the enemy's attention away from the oliphants as Haldir led his elves towards them. Half the elves held the line against the inevitable flood of Confederacy warriors that would undoubtedly attempt to reach their beasts while the other half made their way towards the creatures themselves. Haldir took the stand between the oliphants and their masters, certain that those he had sent to undertake the secondary portion of their mission would acquit themselves adequately.

After all, they  _were_  elves.

Haldir remained on horseback and could discern without casting his gaze behind him that roar of battle was unsettling the beasts considerably. The oliphants trumpeting voices could be heard in random succession and their massive height and bulk cast a shadow of near pitch-black darkness over the elves holding the line against their masters. Haldir could sense their anxiety and their expectation. They craved the comforting symbiosis between rider and mount during such instances and the absence of the former made the beasts anxious for they were uncertain what to do.

Fortunately, the darkness hindered the enemy more than it hindered the elves that were able to see far better than men under any circumstances. In any case, the Eldar relied upon senses beyond their ability to see and they could sense the arrival of the enemy well before they were actually able to see them. Haldirarmed his bow as he heard the approaching advance of the Easterlings. He could hear their footsteps thundering against the ground, soles of their feet crushing the gravel like terrain into dust. He could almost hear them draw breath.

" _Naur_ _ na innas!"_

His order had no sooner left his lips than a deadly wall of arrows escaped the line of elves and slammed into the enemy like a brick wall that had suddenly formed out of nothingness. It was too dark to see them clearly still but the screams of pain as well as the abrupt halt of footsteps revealed a clearer picture than one that could be gained from sight. He could imagine in his mind's eyes the men that had been halted in their steps, thrown backward from the force of the projectiles, those who kept moving even though the comrade at their side had fallen into the dirt behind him.

" _Ad_!" He shouted again.

Another barrage of arrows was sent flying through the air and though the effect was not as prolific as the first assault, Haldir had no doubt that it had done considerable damage to the number of the Easterling advance. Indeed, his assumption appeared true when the enemy finally appeared within their sights, there seemed a considerably less number of them than he had anticipated and though their purpose was clearly to reach the beasts behind the elves, there was rage to their battle cry that belied the anger felt at their fallen comrades.

The elves continued the assault with their arrows, savagely curtailing the number of Easterlings coming towards them. At the last instance, the enemy realising their vulnerability began to spread out, erroneously believing that like the elves were like men, employed long bows that were effective mostly over distance. However, as anyone who had ever seen Legolas Greenleaf in battle could attest, this was an assumption steeped in folly. The arrows flew almost to the last instance, when only a quarter of the Easterling cavalry remained alive and capable of fighting.

They swarmed around the front line of elves who themselves had scattered in an effort to defend themselves and to hold the perimeter. Haldir heard a cry and felt his heart plunge a little because it was the voice of someone he knew. Lashing away at the enemy attempting to pull him from his horse, his senses screamed of impending peril that was not for the battle but to him personally. He looked up just in time to see the point of the spear coming at him. Haldir twisted his body in the saddle to evade it but he did not have the flexibility to escape completely unscathed.

The pain was not quite excruciating but for a precious few seconds, the elf felt every nerve in his body screaming in pain. It was rather a miracle that the impulse did not manifest itself verbally. He felt it in his flesh, its steel scrapping the underside of his ribs, blood flowing out of his armour. His eyes clouded in pain as he saw the enemy yank back the weapon and succumbed to the agony of that abrupt retraction by a slight shout. Haldir slumped forward in his saddle, breathing hard and through his teeth. He could sense for a repeat attack and lifted his gaze enough to see his approach. To the Easterling, he appeared done but Haldir was far from that. Shaking from the pain, he focussed his thoughts and waited until the best possible moment, that is when the enemy attempted to shove the spear through his chest.

He caught the shaft with reflexes only the Eldar knew, his speed driven by the chemicals of aggression pulsing through a body that was steeling itself to fight for survival. His gauntlet enclosed the shaft slick with his blood and snatched it from the enemy using the reserve of elven strength. His other hand had been poised on the hilt of his blade and in quick succession; he unsheathed the weapon and swung it in a neat arc. The enemy's head flew into the air, the force of the cut so powerful that it spun once before tumbling against the ground, making a thudding noise that was almost as sickening as the feel of his blood soaking into his clothes.

Haldir cast the spear aside once the deed was done, lifting himself painfully upright. He was injured badly but he was not about to leave the field. They were not done yet and this was one battle he was going to see through the end. No injury was going to stand in the way of that fierce desire.

* * *

Gimli did not like leading battle and he liked leading an army of men even less. However, when Aragorn had given him the important duty of leading the rankers in the attack, the son of Gloin found that he could not refuse. In truth, there was very little to do in such an instance, since most of the army's eye would be affixed upon their king charging into battle astride his horse. Still, Aragorn felt it was important that someone lead the charge on foot and though dwarves were not really at their best whilst running, at least over long distances, Gimli knew that he was more than capable of doing so.

When Aragorn had ridden away, his cry of battle reaching into the hearts of all, even Gimli himself, the dwarf had repeated the call to fight for the kings of all, namely Elendill and the army of rankers had exploded forward in a stampede of sound that drowned all other thoughts from their mind and perhaps the world itself. Their arrival had astonished the enemy who possibly at that point believed they were facing the ambush of archers and riders, not the complement of the entire Western army. Gimli saw the astonishment on their faces, amidst the dim glow of torches they carried. Their hesitation lasted but briefly before fear and determination swept away their intimidation.

The armies met like colliding rocks, shattering into a thousand fragments as the battle splayed out across their limited field. In the passageway between the hills, they fought, a tide of bodies hacking away at each other. Gimli did not know many he killed, how much blood was drawn from his axe. He no longer kept score of how many he killed, it became too numerous to count and truth be known, the keeping a running tally of the dead had ceased to be a game since entering Haradwraith.

Swinging the axe into the belly of yet another unfortunate opponent, Gimli tried to catch a glimpse of either Aragorn or Legolas during the battle. The darkness and the number of bodies made it difficult to see. The field of battle was also rather large despite the narrow passage of the ravine. He was certain by now the elf would be in the thick of things since Legolas would have proceeded here immediately after the ambush by the archers was completed. Gimli could see the cavalry around him, watched the armoured warriors astride their beasts taking a devastating toll on the enemy but he could not see Aragorn. No doubt the king of Gondor would be in dead centre of the storm.

The dwarf rolled across the ground as he saw a scimitar blade coming at him. He could not roll very far without fear of being trampled but made sure he had the room he needed to maneuver as he got on his feet and cleaved a fatal blow in his enemy's back. The Easterling or Haradrim, it hardly mattered to Gimlianymore, fell flat on his face as Gimli pulled out the blade and resume the battle. Suddenly, through the moonlight, he saw a familiar head of gold hair through the sea of fighting bodies. Gimli narrowed his eyes and concentrated, wishing at this moment he was in possession of elven eyesight, though it would take a torturers rack to force him to admit it, but it was undoubtedly the lord of Eden Ardhon and his friend.

It was Legolas.

It took another instant of observation to realise that the elf was standing still in the middle of all the chaos around him, oblivious of the battle because something else had captured his eyes. Gimli knew that look, the one he had become so familiar with throughout the desert campaigns and was suddenly gripped with the terrible urgency that he needed to reach the elf immediately.

* * *

For Legolas Greenleaf, the war was suddenly and utterly forgotten.

It appeared as if he were standing in the eye of the storm, with chaos ensuing all about him in a tempest of blood and killing and within that eye, stood Dallanar and his son.

The boy was frozen in fear, terrified to move lest he become swallowed in the maelstrom around him. Like any child, his first impulse was to remain close to the parent who raised and loved him. However, he was the Crown Prince of Haradrim and he was facing the leader of the elves who had turned the war against his country into a bloodbath, an elf who held their father personally responsible for the destruction of his colony, who now looked at him with such calculation that the boy had come to realise that killing the father was no longer as satisfying as murdering the son.

The boy stared at his father and saw that the older man had understood this as well.

"Get away from him," Dallanar's demand hissed in Legolas' ears.

"Get away from him or what?" Legolas asked, his voice was glacial in its hatred.

"Your rage is with me," Dallanar replied, painfully aware of how much closer the lord of Eden Ardhon was to his son.

"Then you should not have brought him to the battlefield," Legolas answered.

"He is the Crowned Prince," Dallanar declared, "I cannot ask of our young men what I cannot ask of my own son."

"And so he will pay the same price as they," Legolas retorted, taking a step towards him.

"NO!" Dallanar exclaimed, the persona of king forgotten, only the terrified parent remained.

He rushed at Legolas who was not exactly taken by surprise at his aggression. The king of the Haradrim barrelled into the elf and knocked him off his feet, Dallanar's bulk against Legolas lithe frame accomplishing this easily enough. The king swore at himself because he was in possession of better skills in battle than this novice's attack but his actions were meant to drive the elf away from his son and to that end, this clumsy tackle worked rather well. He rolled on top of Legolas, preparing to strike when suddenly, the elf's foot lashed out, the toe of his boot making sharp contact with the back of Dallanar's skull. The Haradrim king let out a soft grunt of pain as he reeled forward, disturbing his balance enough for Legolas to throw him off.

The elf rolled onto his knees and was on his feet in seconds, his body moving like that of a cat, smooth and gracile. Dallanar struggled to keep up, pushing himself onto his knees and looked up in time to see another boot connecting with the underside of his jaw, beneath the chin. The power of the kick almost flipped him onto this back and he immediately felt blood in his mouth from where teeth had sunk into his tongue. The elf took a step forward in his dizziness, a hand clenching around Dallanar's throat and falling him to his feet. He felt powerful fingers digging into his flesh and a fist connecting with his jaw with such force that he slammed against the floor without contest.

Dallanar struggled to get up but his pummelling at the hands of the enemy was far from done. He felt himself hauled upwards by the arm and managed to react with a rush of a determination, throwing as fist into the lord of Eden Ardhon's face and momentarily distracting him into releasing his grip upon Dallanar. The king saw the elf stagger back from the blow and opened his swollen eye to search for his son. He found him not long after, staring at the scene with his eyes wide from fear and worry.

"Run!" Dallanar ordered but could offer no more instruction when he felt another blow, this one against his ribs, followed by another sharp blow to the jaw. He had heard that elves were far stronger than men but until now, Dallanar did not realise how much difference that could make in a battle.

The king of the Haradrim fought valiantly to hold his own against the lord of Eden Ardhon but Legolas Greenleaf was being driven by more than just the need to win the day. He was driven by the anguish of everything this man had driven him to do, the enmity he had created between himself and all men who would never look at any elf in quite the same way because of what he had done in Haradwraith. As his fists flew, striking flash, turning bone into kindling, Legolas was visited with a flood of images and each of them had their own resonance of pain and fury. He thought of the child he had killed, of Nunaur who would never be able to see the Undying Lands, he thought of the little girl Anna and the village of Lebethron who had been sacrificed as a warning to him, he thought of all the elves who had come to an end in this desert on the edge of the world and of Eden Ardhon, his home, sullied and destroyed.

And then there was Melia.

His wife. His love. Violated like some tavern whore because was  _his_  wife. The Easterlings had not simply taken her honour, they had carved up her heart with guilt until the only way she could justify anything that he had done was to leave. Like Aragorn and all his friends, she would never look at him in quite the same way again, not after the blood this man had caused him to spill. Legolas wondered what enraged him more, the fact that this animal had caused his wife such pain or turned him into a monster. Perhaps that was the real reason why he could not go to Melia; he could not bear having her turn away in shame, knowing what he had done here in Haradwraith. He could not bear being held any less in her eyes, any more than she had been unable to endure the same after her violation.

Legolas loved her too much.

He did not know how long his fists struck flesh, how many blows he had delivered to the king of the Haradrim who no longer fought back. Legolas could feel his knuckles split, could feel the damp of blood against his skin, most of which was not his own. The red haze of rage and grief fell away from his eyes and when he blinked, he saw that Dallanar's face was little more than a bloody pulp. The man's teeth, jagged rows of white were covered in blood and Legolas doubted he was able to see through the blood filled swell of his eyes.

"Leave him alone!" The boy screamed, rushing at Legolas, anger overcoming his fear at last.

Legolas lashed out with one hand and grabbed the boy by the neck, releasing the father to the ground. Dallanar fell against the gravel, not quite conscious as Legolas turned towards his firstborn.

Legolas stood up to full height, holding the boy firmly in his grip, staring at the young face. He was little more fifteen years old, now that the Lord of Eden Ardhon had opportunity to look at him closer. His eyes had lost their momentary glint of rage and had resumed fear once more. He closed his eyes as Legolasunsheathed his sword, clamping them tight so that he would not see the killing blow. He did not cry out, even though his lips were trembling, the corner of his eyes filled with tears. Legolas could sense his fear, it was so thick that it could be sliced with a blade.

"Please…" Dallanar's voice groaned over the sound of battle. "Please do not hurt him. Your anger is at me, not at my son. He did nothing to harm you or your kind. Do not punish him for my sins," Dallanar's voice choked into a sob, "I beg you, spare him."

"It is a terrible thing is it not?" Legolas met his gaze and addressed his nemesis for the first time without rage or malice, merely calm elven resignation, a stark contrast to his brutal assault upon Dallanar but a short moment ago. "To see someone you love, harmed and humiliated, destroyed from within with wounds that no amount of time can ever truly heal, knowing that it was suffering inflicted because of  _you_. To watch everyone you love endure their wounds, while you yourself come away completely unscathed, whole and yet less intact than they because their grief eats away your soul, a tiny portion at time."

Dallanar did not speak but the shudder in his eyes at the sight of his son in the elf’s grip told Legolas he was beginning to understand quite clearly.

"What you did to my people, there are no word to describe. To take one of us by force in the despicable manner you have done could have easily caused the annihilation of your race had we been in greater numbers in Middle Earth. My people were willing to turn our back upon Valinor and our gods to wage war against Morgoth, what in Eru's name did you think would happen when you provoked us by what you did at Eden Ardhon? It was I who gave it its name, it meant New World and that is what I wished to build, a new world in a new age of peace. The War of the Ring did not just end the bloodshed for Gondor and the west but for your people as well. All Aragorn ever wanted to do was reunite all the races of men but you could not see the gesture for what it was. It was easier to believe that he was attempting to subjugate you rather than to give peace a chance. Even in his death, your people are still shackled in servitude to Sauron."

Dallanar appeared as if he might protest at that statement but he did not speak and Legolas imagined that it would take some effort on his part to form any words after the battery the king had received at his hands. Fortunately, the only further assault that Dallanar would have to endure from him now would be a verbal one.

"You took Eden Ardhon and you destroyed it, you sullied it with your cruelty and turned me so far away from myself that I shall never be able to look in the mirror without seeing some part of the darkness you provoked in me. You almost turned me into a creature that would have murdered your son in front of your eyes just to ensure you understood my wrath. A number of weeks of ago, I would have done it and happily. I would have split his belly open and have his innards fall about your ears in bloody sacrifice but I have come to discover of late, thanks to my friends and the woman whose rape you were so happy to boast in Ithilien, that I will not allow you any more power over me than you have. I will not become the monster that you would have me be. You have turned me against my conscience too much already and I will cross it no more."

With that Legolas released the boy and said softly, "go."

The boy stared at him with shock, "this is a trick."

"If you die this day boy, it will not be at my hands," Legolas answered. "My choice does not reflect the rest of the western army so this reprieve may be temporary. In any case, I have no concern of you."

"I will not go without my father," the boy insisted in surprising show of steel.

"GO!" Dallanar groaned in pain.

"I will not go without you father!" The boy returned.

"Do not worry yourself," Legolas stepped away from father and son. "I have no intention of killing him though he surely deserves it."

Dallanar’s shock was reflected in his eyes.

It was the truth however. In the last few minutes, he had realised how pointless it was. He could have killed Dallanar's son and shown the man what it was like to have someone he loved harmed because of his choices. However, Legolas realized that it would change nothing for him personally. It would not take away the pain he felt or the sorrow in his heart.

Aragorn was right.

Life was hard and sometimes one simply had to accept the misfortunes it dealt and continue on. He had heard the words but did not truly understand it until the moment was upon him. He could have killed Dallanar and let that act of vengeance destroy all semblance of the person he was but suddenly, in this place, with so much death surrounding him, even as he was turning Dallanar’s flesh into pulp, Legolas could not think about anything but life.

His life, the life of his friends and that of Melia’s, all waiting to be lived and he wanted very much to be apart of it, as he was before this conflict of blood had changed him.

Suddenly, he wanted it more than he wanted to kill Dallanar.

Legolas stared at the boy who still refused to run and spoke once more, surprised that the battle had yet to interrupt the moment. "Eru knows I have thought of little else these past few weeks but of taking your life," Legolas replied, staring at Dallanar. "I have justified the rightness of my cause to the very possibility of losing my wife forever but now that I stand within reach of my goal, I see no reason to take your life. I am certain that someone else will do so in due course. Your country is conquered, your people will soon become a part of the Reunified Kingdom, a province of Gondor. You are defeated enough without my personal need to take your life and because my wife believed letting you live would save me. I do not know whether or not I can be saved but I will do this because I have failed her too many times since Eden Ardhon. This one thing I am willing to sacrifice because she means more to me than your blood on my hands."

And Melia truly did. When this war was over, he would find her and tell her that she was right, that to kill this Haradrim king was to destroy the man he loved and he would not risk such a thing, not ever again. Legolas turned away from Dallanar, staring at the battle that was still raging around him like the white hot flames of a furnace, preparing to throw himself into the fray for he was willing to do battle as a soldier, not as the vengeful lord of Eden Ardhon. His days of being encompassed by this all consuming need to avenge that particular wrong was done.

It was time to live again.

He did not look over his shoulder, certain that the boy had rushed to his father’s side the moment Legolas had turned his back upon both of them. There was a battle to be won yet, although Legolas was certain they would take the field at the end of the day. Somewhere in this carnage that had left them untouched while he spoke his mind, was Aragorn and Gimli, he wished to find them again and fight at their side as he had done since becoming a member of the Fellowship. This was as much about reclaiming his sense of self as it was reclaiming his wife.

He had no more taken a step forward when something tugged at his subconscious, urging him to pause. It manifested itself like a sudden swell of the ocean and when Legolas spun around, he heard his name being called with terrible urgency.

"WATCH OUT!"

Legolas turned around and saw Dallanar had recouped his strength and was surging towards him with a scimitar. The lord of Eden Ardhon had barely had enough time to avoid being impaled when suddenly, he saw Dallanar falter in his attack, the king's forceful steps becoming an uncoordinated stagger forward. The Haradrim king stared at him, his expression unfathomable. He open his torn lips to speak but what came from it was not a voice but a gush of blood that spilled over his lips and ran down his chin. He dropped to his knees suddenly and fell forward.

Legolas took a step back and discerned what had happened when he saw the axe buried in the back of Dallanar’s skull. Dallanar’s son had run forward and was soon crouched over his father, sobbing in grief. Legolas would have offered him compassion but somehow felt that it would be ill received. Dallanar had made his choice in spite of Legolas’ mercy. What fate claimed him or his son beyond that point was no longer the elf’s concern. Instead, Legolas lifted his eyes upward and saw himself staring at the dwarf who had saved his life.

"I believe that brings my tally to twenty," Gimli declared, his voice shaking. The dwarf had heard Legolas’ speech and had done nothing because his heart was filled with such gratitude at the journey the elf had taken back to them that he could not bear to interrupt until the moment demanded it.

Legolas’ curled his lips into a little smile, "I think you may be ahead in this game my friend."

"You are a reckless fool," Gimli retorted as Legolas closed the distance between them and patted his shoulder in a gesture of untold affection. "Only a fledgling turns him back upon an enemy even when he is seemingly subdued. You could have gotten yourself killed!" The dwarf ranted in typical fashion.

"No I would not," Legolas shook his head. "I knew you would be there to watch my back."

Gimli’s eyes clouded with emotion and as always when he was bombarded with sentiment he was not entirely comfortable with, harrumphed loudly before going to retrieve his weapon.

"Where is he?" Gimli asked upon realizing that Dallanar’s child had fled, leaving his father’s dead body behind.

Legolas swept his gaze across the battle field, at the fight still raging around them and released a little sigh when he could not see the boy, "I do not know and it no longer matters."

And he was rather pleased at how good it felt to know that it was true.

* * *

Dallanar’s death did not bring the battle to an end.

When they had fought the enemy on home ground, the Haradrim were willing to die for their leader but after their numerous defeats and the onslaught of elven wrath, the enemy’s willingness to protect the king lessened considerably as did their faith in his strategy. Dallanar’s death was hardly noticed by his people and only after the fighting was done, would many of them become aware that he had fallen at all. Before that outcome, the battle of Anumet continued into the morning with losses on both sides. Despite the devastating surprise attack from which they never fully recovered, the Confederacy defended themselves valiantly and while it was hoped that it would not come to it they fought almost to the last man.

Aragorn had fought the battle in the very heart of it. Astride Roheryn, he provided his men with the will to continue fighting, even when their limbs were aching and their bodies bled from numerous wounds. Their king fought alongside of them, never leaving the field of battle. Upon Roheryn, King Elessardirected the battle, fought the enemy and bled alongside them. Those who had faltered had only to see the determination in their king’s eyes to know that they could wield their sword once more and fell upon the enemy whose numbers were beginning to dwindle.

Legolas and Gimli fought alongside each other throughout most of the battle, carving a path through the sea of bodies to reach Aragorn. The king of Gondor was grateful to see they were alive but could do little to acknowledge it as the battle continued. The three remained in close proximity for most of the night, wielding axe, sword and dagger in endless combat, slashing and cutting away at bone, flesh and blood, until the sand ran red with it and the air was killed with nothing but clanging steel and cries of dying and agony.

The ranks of the enemy were savagely decimated once the more seasoned veterans had fallen in battle. The desperation of the Confederacy in its conscription was most apparent by the young faces that Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn were force to fight. While some were little more than adolescents, others were not long into their adulthood but ultimately the outcome was the same. Against the battle hardened warriors of Gondor, Rohan and Ithilien, to say nothing of the experienced elven warriors, the enemy could not stand and began to fall like chaff in the wind.

Imrahil had carried out his task of preventing the Confederacy from escaping the ravine with magnificent success. The Lord of Dol Amroth, using the warriors under his command drove the enemy back through the passage, hemming them in on either side of the ravine. Faced with Imrahil’s forces and Aragorn’s on either side of them, the Confederacy arm was soon crushed in a ring of steel. What the cavalry under Imrahil’s lead did not tear asunder, the rankers of the western army were more than capable of undertaking with similar efficiency.

By the time Eomer and Haldir returned to the ravine after undertaking their own mission beyond the hills of Anumet, the enemy was already on the verge of complete annihilation. The appearance of more cavalry seemed to drive what will there were in them to prevail into nothingness. The plan to nullify the threat of the mumakils had met with resounding success with the remnants of the Confederacy army utterly laid to waste and the elven ability to communicate with the beasts ensured that the creatures would be no further trouble.

The combined assault of the western army in all it’s entirely upon the dwindling remains of the Confederacy, brought the enemy to its knees in a matter of hours. As the sun rose in the horizon and the night stole further away from dawn into the new day, the battle of Anumet had finally drawn to an end and though no one spoke it at the time, so too were the Desert Campaigns of Haradwraith.

* * *

Legolas stared out the window and allowed his gaze to sweep across Mahazar, remembering how he had once vowed to burn this city to the ground.

He was rather glad that he did not.

They had marched into Mahazar yesterday, entering the city unopposed because the Tribe of Bors had swept into the Haradrim capital days before and dealt with the scant forces left behind to defend the city. The people of Mahazar had little choice but to endure the occupation of the four thousand strong army from the Sunlands, particularly when the handful of soldiers left to defend them were easily overcome. Some resistance from the native population had been encountered but the Bors dealt with this using similar efficiency and by the time the armies of the west marched into Mahazar, the population had settled into an uneasy acceptance of their situation.

The rest of the Sanara Belt had little choice but to accede to the surrender, since their ranks had been drained of all defenses when the Confederacy had made its last stand at Anumet. A handful of high-ranking generals had survived Anumet but as was in the customs of war that no amount of compassion or benevolence could permit, they were put to the sword quickly and with mercy. The executions had disturbed Aragorn greatly, Legolas knew but the king of Gondor could not afford to assume half measures now that he had conquered a country and brought about an end to the war. It was thing to end the fighting but quite another to ensure that peace could be maintained and to that end, those sacrifices had to be made.

The Easterling leader and his Variag counterpart were allowed to return home with what was left of their armies, which was to say very little. Both were issued a warning that Gondor was watching and less they wished their respective lands to be annexed as Haradwraith had been, they would be wise to desist in any attempts at aggression. As it was, the terms of their surrender required the Easterlings and the Variags to return immediately to their territories and surrender all lands taken from the Bors in their wars with the people of the Sunlands. The two leaders had protested but had little choice but to accept the terms since they were clearly in a position of disadvantage.

Following the departure of the Variags and the Easterlings, with a healthy portion of Bors warriors ensuring they crossed into their borders without any resurgence of defiance, Aragorn and the Ruling Council turned its attention to the newly acquired province of Haradwraith.

Legolas studied the skyline beyond the domed palace and had to confess seeing the beauty that Faramir described so vividly upon his return from this city. There was an exotic texture about it, an amalgamation of cultures that produced a visual feast of color that was somewhat surprising in a land surrounded by desert. He and Gimli had explored the city this morning, mindful that the people of Mahazar after hearing tales of Axinar and the rest of the villages in the Barrens, still expected to be slaughtered by the First Born. His purpose for moving among them was to show them that they were safe from murdering elves and to diffuse their fears as much as possible.

He found a city of incredible diversity, once one was able to look beneath the fear in everyone’s eyes. From the colorful bazaars, to the eclectic flotilla of trading boats on the Sanara River, Mahazar was very much like Minas Tirith and yet uniquely different as well. As Legolas walked through the paved streets, breathing in the unfamiliar spices and scents, he wished more than ever that Melia was here with him. More and more, his eye was turning to the east and he knew that even when matters in Mahazar were settled, he would still have one bit of unfinished business to deal with.

But not yet.

Legolas turned away from the window upon Aragorn’s arrival in the throne room of the Haradrim palace. The Elfstone cut an impressive figure as he approached the seat of Haradrim power clad in the regalia expected of a conquering king. With Anduril sheathed in its scabbard at his hip and flanked by Faramirand Imrahil who were presenting the fiefs of Ithilien and Dol Amroth, Aragorn took the throne before the entire court of Haradwraith. Eomer and Kirin as the other leaders of their country were placed in a seat of similar honor but it was clear that the king of the Reunified Kingdom was the master of the floor. Legolas drew a deep breath and took his place at this elite gathering, Haldir to one side and Gimli at the other.

Before them was what remained of Haradwraith’s ministers, the ones who had chose to remain instead of fleeing what they were certain would be death at the hands of the new regime. These were men who loved their country, who were willing to remain despite the possibility of death, who could no more abandon their homes as any ranker could turn away from Gondor in its time of need. The Prime Minister, a man called Yurien, stood before the Ruling council, prepared to argue what concessions he could gain for Haradrim sovereignty, such as it was.

Standing next to him was Dalan, the Crown Prince of Haradwraith and Dallanar’s only son.

The boy had been recaptured following the battle of Anumet, one of the handful of survivors following that fierce battle. Dalan had come through the ordeal a little stronger Legolas noted. The fear that he had seen in the boy’s eyes was better hidden if not diminished altogether. He held his head high and his countenance did not speak of defeat but rather of pride and dignity. Did he acquire that trait from Dallanar, Legolas wondered.

"Firstly," Aragorn broke the overwhelming silence of the room, "we will discuss the disposition of Prince Dalan."

Legolas saw the boy stiffening and the mood in the throne room already tense, became even more taut as all eyes fixed upon the king and the young prince respectively.

"It is customary in such circumstances that the first born son of any defeated or deposed king be put to death as a deterrent for future acts of aggression where he may be used as a rallying cry of opposition," Aragorn began. Legolas could see Dalan’s strength began to falter but he did an admirable job of maintaining a composed face. Yurien at his side however, appeared resigned that the boy’s death as an inevitability.

"However," Aragorn replied, sweeping his gaze not only across the court of Haradwraith but also his comrades in arms and in particular Legolas, "at the behest of Lord Legolas of Eden Ardhon, representative of Eryn Lasgalen and Lorien, I have chosen to commute the sentence of death to exile. You and your family will be expatriated to the Sunlands where you will live under the supervision of the Bors. You will not be allowed to return to Haradwraith and should you attempt to do so, we will assume it as a violation of the terms of surrender and the traditional sentence shall hold."

Yurien let out a deep exhale and Legolas guessed that it was likely that the Prime Minister held some affection for the young man as evidenced by the relief on his face at Aragorn’s decree. Indeed the court of Haradrim were similarly astonished by the order, for such mercy would have been unheard of were it Dallanar occupying the throne. Legolas had needed very little effort to convince Aragorn to give the young man his life because Aragorn was too noble a man to condone bloodshed of one so young despite the demands of tradition.

"We thank the king for his mercy," Yurien spoke for the first time.

"There has been enough bloodshed in this land," Aragorn answered him with sympathy. "Let us not begin this new page with the murder of a child. Does this suit you young Dalan?" He turned to the Prince, "or will you prefer to join your father in death?"

Dalan blinked, not expecting to be addressed directly. As it was, the young man appeared rather stunned that he was being allowed to live.

"I am the head of my household if no longer a prince," Dalan answered, his voice shaking and his eyes never meeting Aragorn’s, "I still have responsibility to my mother and my sisters. I shall accept exile if it means I can care for them."

"You have made a good choice young one," Aragorn answered with a smile, "go in peace."

Faramir had only to nod at Beregond before the Captain of Ithilien, who along with the troops under his command had taken sentry position in the room, marched forward and whisked the young man to his fate.

Once Dalan was ferried away, Aragorn turned his attention to the Prime Minister for their business was far from done. Aragorn had no wish to rule in Haradwraith but there were realities he was forced to deal with, precautions he had to take in order to protect the Reunified Kingdom and its allies. What happened at Lebethron, Edoras, Lossarnach, Ithilien and Eden Ardhon would not be repeated again, of this he was absolute. The cycle of hatred had to end and if it required him acting with a little more benevolence than was required of a conquering army, then so be it.

"Prime Minister Yurien," Aragorn met the man’s eyes, "that you chose to remain when so many of your ministers have fled leads me to believe that the fate of your country is more important to you than your safety."

"This is my home," Yurien said firmly in perfect Westron, "I was born here and if necessary I will die here."

"I am appointing a governor to this realm," Aragorn stated, getting to the heart of the matter quickly. "He will sit in charge of one thousand Gondorian rankers and four hundred Rohirrim cavalrymen who have volunteered to remain in Haradwraith. This presence will also be supported by a further one thousand troops from the Tribe of Bors and three hundred elven archers."

A low hiss moved through the court but Aragorn continued speaking for this matter had been discussed by the ruling council before this day and to the others who had no part in the process, the decision was not theirs to debate, merely accept.

"Word has been sent to him in Gondor and he will be arriving shortly, I wish you to act as his counsel, Prime Minister Yurien," Aragorn declared.

Yurien’s eyes widened. "How can you trust me?"

"I do not and I am certain neither will he," Aragorn retorted. "Trust is something that has to be earned and if he for one instant, believes that you are attempting to subvert the initiative of a peaceful coexistence, he has my full authority to separate your head from your body. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Yurien answered needing no further clarification.

"The governor will arrive here with grain, surplus grain that Gondor has kept in its granaries when our harvests have been particularly bountiful. That grain will be brought to Mahazar and distributed throughout the Sanara Belt and the Barrens. He will also bring with him some of our best agricultural minds that may be able to aid your efforts to grow grain. His first order of business will be to feed your people, something I am sad to say Dallanar has been ill in accomplishing during his reign."

Once again, the court of the Haradrim were uncertain of how to accept such a magnanimous offer and a ripple swept through the faces of those present.

"This governor," Yurien finally asked, "who shall it be?"

"Erchirion of Dol Amroth, second born of Lord Imrahil," Aragorn glanced briefly at the Prince who had been rather stunned when Aragorn had brought up the matter with him. As second born, Erchirion would always live in the shadow of his older brother and both siblings had been acquitting themselves admirably in the defense of Gondor during the Desert Campaigns. "He is a fine warrior and has learned a good deal of diplomacy from his father who is an expert in the subject. He will oversee the interests of the Reunified Kingdom in Haradwraith and ensure that there will be peace among our people. Perhaps in time, you can see that we are not your enemy and can be trusted to govern yourselves."

That day was many years away, Legolas thought as Aragorn made that statement not only to Yurien but to  _all_  the Haradrim present. It would take longer than Aragorn’s lifetime and Legolas was certain that the elves would be but a memory before that day arrived but he was confident that it would come.

The world was if anything, patient.

* * *

"You are going?" Aragorn spoke to Legolas several days after that fateful meeting in Mahazar.

They had been occupying the palace since their arrival in the city though Legolas never truly felt comfortable residing in the home of his enemy, even if that nemesis was one of countless bodies that had been buried at Mahazar. There was still a good deal to go but Aragorn and the rest of the Ruling Council appeared to have it all in hand. The army would not depart these lands until Erchirion arrived and Aragorn was reasonably confident that Haradwraith was in good hands. That journey would take weeks from Gondor, certainly long enough for Legolas to slip away and deal with affairs of his own.

"For a time," Legolas nodded as they stood in the hallway leading to the main entrance of the palace. "You know why."

"I do," Aragorn replied understanding completely. As his friend, Aragorn was glad that Legolas was at last making this important journey to secure his future though as king, he was grateful that the elf had continued his presence as a member of the Ruling Council and the commander of the elven army. Legolashad been instrumental in convincing the elves that it was necessary that some of them remain behind to maintain the peace in Haradwraith. Those who chose to take up this duty had done so out of a genuine curiosity over this part of Middle Earth and were eager to explore the lands that were suddenly open to them after so long.

"I shall not be away for long," Legolas answered, clutching the hand that reached for his shoulder in a show of warmth and affection. "I promise I will return when you and the others begin the journey home."

"I shall hold you to that," Aragorn said with a smile.

Legolas started to turn away when suddenly, he paused. This exchange was fraught with far more emotion than he thought possible and the need to speak his mind suddenly became overwhelming. He turned around and met Aragorn’s gaze.

"I would not be making this journey if it were not for your friendship Estel," Legolas said quietly. "You have endured much of late being my friend and I wish you to know that I shall not forget it."

Aragorn swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat, dropping his gaze because it was not a thing between men to show so much sentiment even when it was so heartfelt. "You would have done the same for me."

"Perhaps," Legolas answered, "but not without as much patience, I wager. I was ready to kill him and if it were not for your words, I would have done so but you were right about everything and it shames me to think that I could not learn in three millennia what it has taken you less than a century to understand."

"The privileges of mortality," Aragorn shrugged. "You have nothing to be ashamed of Legolas. For all my preaching, for all my advice, I cannot truly say how I would have been if it were Arwen who had been harmed in such manner. I do not think any man who loves a woman as much as you love Melia can ever be certain of their actions when confronted with what you were forced to endure."

"It will not leave me for a long time what I have done in this land," Legolas replied, his eyes moving across the room as if he could see through the walls into the world beyond it. "For all the reasons that I felt justified, there will still be a mark of blood upon me that no amount of time will ever erase."

"Perhaps it is not meant to be," Aragorn answered as Legolas started to break away and resume his departure. "Ride well my friend. I look to the east for your return."

Legolas nodded shortly before disappearing down the corridor.

* * *

He had no more descended the path that led to the stable when he saw Gimli waiting for him at the foot of the steps. Legolas slowed as he approached the dwarf, noting quickly that Gimli was dressed for travel.

"It is about time you arrived," Gimli grumbled in annoyance, his eyes shifting briefly to the morning sky. "We are going to lose the morning thanks to your tardiness."

" _We_?"  Legolas stared at him.

"Well you do not think I am letting you ride all the way to the Sunlands alone?" Gimli stared at Legolas as if he were an infant and not a three thousand year old elf.

"I suppose there is no way I can convince you to remain here," Legolas met the dwarf’s gaze with amusement and affection. As much as Aragorn’s friendship had helped him through this, Legolas could not forget the part Gimli had played either. He was fortunate to be blessed with such friends and did not have it in his heart to turn the dwarf away since Legolas could ask for no better travelling companion.

"No," Gimli retorted turning on his heels and resuming the walk to the stables. "So you had better become accustomed to me being at your side. I intend to see to it that you do not get into any trouble. Aule’s knows that is feat alone will keep me occupied for the next hundred and twenty years."

"And probably beyond," Legolas grinned, not minding the possibility at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note.
> 
> Naur Na innas—Fire at will
> 
> Ad—Again


	12. Homecoming

********

"Are you certain this is best course?

Melia  straightened and lowered her arms from the task of brushing down Lomelindi’s velvet like coat. Since their arrival in the dry, arid climate of the Sunlands, the animal was constantly plagued by dust and sand being caught in its fur. Melia had taken to performing this daily ritual to ease the beast's discomfort. The animal had come to her from Rohan and had cost her almost a year of savings to purchase. Lomelindi was more than just her horse; the mare was her friend. In a time when Melia had been completely alone in her life, existing as mere shadow in the woods of Angmar, this beast had been her only companion.  She had no intention of allowing herself to forget that now that her life had changed.

Turning around slowly, she met the anxious gaze of Aunt Felamin, her father's youngest sister who was awaiting her answer.

Melia  had never known her aunt as a child because Felamin lived in another village with in the Bors Tribal lands.  Felamin had married before Hezare’s return from the western lands and as custom dictated, was forced to travel to her husband’s village to begin her new life. Unfortunately, the devastation of the Scourge had seen Felamin lose not only her husband and most of the men in his family, forcing her to take her own children and returned to the village of her birth. Kirin who at the time,  suddenly found himself the High Chieftain had been more than happy to welcome her into his house, having lost his mother during the attack.  Felamin had tended to Kirin’s house until his marriage and now enjoyed the reputation of a dowager of sorts, caring for her family both infant and adult.

Melia  wished she had known the lady when she was a child because despite being hopelessly trapped in the Tribe’s apparently outdated customs towards women, Melia and her aunt had liked each other immediately. Since her homecoming, Melia had spent a great deal of time with Felamin whose wit and good humour reminded her greatly of the father she had lost.

"It is the only course," Melia said impatiently, resolute in the decision she had made and refusing to entertain any other arguments to the contrary. "I am going to find my husband. I should never have fled in the first instance. Of course, it is hardly surprising since I seem to have a history of running whenever I am faced with any situation of difficulty."

"That is hardly fair," Felamin pointed out.  “You have been through a terrible ordeal. You told me yourself when you came here that you thought that you were doing the best thing for your husband by leaving him and forcing him to follow you.”

“No,” Melia shook her head and turned away, her eyes staring through the open door of the stable into the horizon beyond, “I did what was best for me. I should not have made that demand of him. I wanted to save him but put no thought into whether or not my decision was wise. I have had time to think Aunt and I know I erred in asking him such a thing.”

“It was a mistake borne out of love,” Felamin said sympathetically, liking this headstrong young woman very much.  Felamin had not known Melia’s mother but there was no need for that since the girl was almost all Hezare. Felamin thought and not for the first time since meeting Melia, how much like her father Melia was.  Melia had Hezare dreams in her head, his determination in her eyes and while her face was an amalgamation of both parents, Felamin could only see Hezare.

“I ran from him once Aunt,” Melia confessed, feeling more a fool when she spoke the truth out loud. “I promised him I would never do that again and here I am, having done the very thing I promised I would not do.  I should have been more sensible. I could have simply returned here and told him that I needed to come home. After what we had endured, I do not think he would have begrudged me that desire but coercing him to leave the battlefield, whatever the intention, has no excuse.  I keep thinking of Legolas as my love when I ought to have remembered that his is also the Lord of Eden Ardhon and for the moment, the commander of the elven army. It was irresponsible of me to make such a demand of him.”

“You were trying to save him from himself,” Felamin approached Melia and rested a comforting hand upon the younger woman’s shoulder. “All of us have heard the tales of his rage at Axinar. It is understandable that you behaved as you did.  You did not wish him to destroy himself in the pursuit of his vengeance.”

“So I made a demand of him he could not possibly keep and knowing him, it would have hurt him deeply to refuse me my request,” Melia dropped her gaze to the straw covered floor in shame. “I only hope that he is still in Mahazar when I arrive.”

Melia  felt no anger that Legolas had not come to her in the wake of the news that Mahazar fallen to the Tribe of Bors and the western army. How could she when his arrival would only drive home how foolishly she had behaved by demanding he leave his army and his responsibilities? She had thought to save him from himself by taking away his vengeance but to deny him the right to kill Dallanar was not her choice to make. 

It was his.

Only he could decide whether or not he wished to travel that path even if it led to destruction.  She could try to convince him against it but ultimately; no one could make the decision for him. She should have gone to him as Gimli had wished. She should have gone to Legolas to embrace him in her arms and tell him that no matter what, she loved him still and always would.  It was her own shock at what he was capable of doing at Axinar that had sent her fleeing like a frightened child. It appeared her entire life was one endless flight after another.  It disgusted her completely that she had not recognised that by now.

Ironically enough, coming to the Sunlands had replenished her as she had hoped it would. Suddenly what happened to her in Eden Ardhon seemed very far away and though there would be scars upon her psyche that would never truly fade, she knew she could live with them and perhaps the ordeal had  even made her stronger.  However, she first had to find her prince and tell him that she was a fool and perhaps he might forgive her for doing the unthinkable once yet again.   Melia hoped he could forgive her.

“The war is ended,” Felamin answered, resigning to the fact that Melia would leave as she intended the next day and nothing said would change her mind.  “I would imagine that the western army would have some issues to attend before they can depart.”

“I would imagine that they would have quite a great deal to contend with,” Melia answered, unable to imagine what an enormous task it must be to set Haradwraith in order now that the enemy was conquered.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Hadar, Kirin’s son of seven years. The boy had latched himself to Melia soon after she had arrived, demanding to hear the tales of the western lands. Melia was able to oblige him with the legends of the Fellowship and the history of the elves as imparted to her by Legolas, earning her his undying adoration. He had Kirin’s sweet nature with a smile that would charm any woman he met in his adulthood. 

“Cousin Melia, you must come!” The boy ran across the room, pausing long enough to secure Melia’s hand in his before resuming his journey the way he came.

“What is it?” Melia asked as she allowed herself to be led by the boy, offering Felamin a look of puzzlement as she was forced into the sunshine outside.

Felamin  shrugged in similar confusion, choosing to follow her younger family members out the stable to investigate the reason for Hadar’s excitement and insistence. Children his age were usually inclined to see the most inconsequential things as important but even Felamin had to concede that there was more than the usual enthusiasm in the boy’s manner.

Melia  emerged outside and saw that there was a ripple of excitement moving through the community. Men and women alike had emerged from their homes and were staring in the same direction. Their expressions were a mixture of awe, wonder and excitement. Melia wondered if perhaps Kirin and the army had come home.  However, her appearance divided their attention as some turned to her and began muttering amongst themselves.  Happy smiles and anticipated expressions filled their faces, forcing Melia’s stomach into a nervous tangle of knots.

“Look Melia,” Hadar exclaimed as Felamin came to stand next to them, “it is him. He has come.”

Melia  followed Hadar’s gaze and understood at last what had captured the attention of all the villagers in this community.  She felt her heart quicken at the sight of the prince, astride Arod with Gimli at his side, his fair skin a little more tanned than she remembered owing to the heat and his hair even more golden under the sun.  To the Bors, he looked as if he might have stepped out of the pages of an ancient book, the kind that Bor’s descendants had brought with them from Beleriand. For many who had never seen an elf in their lives, the memory of Legolas’ first arrival into their midst’s would be burned into memory forever.

Melia  did not see an elf or the great hero of the Fellowship or even the conqueror of Haradwraith. She saw only the man she loved and knowing that he was here and he had come all this way despite her selfish demand sent her running forward before the thought had reached completion in her head. She was barely aware that Hadar had attempted to follow her only to find himself secured in Felamin’s grip to prevent it. 

Melia  hurried forward; unable to believe the tonic it was to her spirit to simply see him. Eru how she had missed him and prayed that he was in the mood for forgiveness. She told herself that she deserved whatever anger he may be feeling but was hopeful because he had come all this way.  She understood completely that he had to wait until the war had ended and was grateful that he had.  When she had heard that Dallanar had died at the hands of Gimli, not Legolas, Melia knew that there would have been no way that Legolas would permitted it unless it was  _his_  choice.   How she had underestimated him and even as she hurried towards Legolas, felt another surge of shame at her inability to rise to the occasion when he needed her.

Legolas  saw Melia approach and felt his own heart swell with emotion at seeing her.  She looked well he thought and there was a sparkle in her eyes he had not seen since before Eden Ardhon. Had returning to this place agreed with her as much as she had claimed it would?  Legolas brought Arod to a halt upon seeing her and noted that his arrival into the village was causing much commotion with all eyes fixed upon Gimli and himself.  It was likely that none of these people had ever seen a dwarf or an elf and Legolas wished he were a less tainted representative of his race to mark that initial introduction.

“She looks happy to see you,” Gimli remarked, his own pleasure at seeing Melia apparent on his grinning face.

Legolas  flashed the dwarf a returning smile, hoping that it could convey to Gimli the thanks that words were inadequate to express. The journey here had been long, requiring them to travel the length of the Sanara River and crossing the Turan Mountains to reach the Bors Tribal lands.  They were accompanied by some of the Bors who had parted company when they neared their own villages once they inside their territory. Legolas discovered that the Tribe of Bors was a collective of many villages stretched across the Sunland’s, the principle being the village of Borean, so named after the descendant of Bors who crossed the Turan Mountains and founded the Tribe.

Dismounting the animal, he felt slightly uncomfortable by the fact he and Melia were being observed but supposed he drew attention by his very presence, to say nothing of his relationship to Hezare’s daughter. Arod seemed to recognize his master’s lady and sniffed her familiar scent with two loud snorts. Legolas crossed the space between Melia and himself, wondering if she knew how great that distance truly was. It felt like an eternity since he last beheld her and seeing her again made him wonder how he could have ever thought of risking her love for vengeance.

Neither spoke as they swept into each other’s arms and crushed their lips together in a kiss full of passion and fire. For a time, there was nothing else in the world except for the touch, taste and feel of one another wrapped in a passionate display of love and desire.  It took the breath away, it made the heart pound and infused each other with a rekindling of spirit that was devoid in both for too long.  The wounds that had marked them seemed less when they were together and it was proof that their love would survive their recent troubles.

Legolas  had forgotten how it felt to kiss her, to breathe her, to simply bask in the presence of her because it had been so long.  It was almost nine months since he had last seen her.  For elves it should have been a blink of an eye but without her it was a long and torturous. He could not begin to imagine how men retained their sanity when time moved so slowly for them.  He took from her lips all that he could, a parched man indulging himself at an oasis.  She too was happy to quench his thirst for she appeared just as needy as he. 

Still, parting was inevitable and Legolas pulled himself reluctantly away from those enchanting lips to stare into the pools of her eyes, burning with love and spirit once more. 

“This does not mean I am any  _less_  upset at you,” he said with one brow arched.

“I deserve it,” Melia declared readily. “If you had but been a day later, we would have missed each other. I would have been gone in the morning.”

“Gone?” He stared at her.

“I was going to Mahazar to find you,” she answered sincerely. “I was coming to tell you that once again I was a fool for making of you’re the demand to leave the war  to be with me here. I should not have asked that of you. It was wrong. I sought to save you from yourself. After seeing what had happened at Axinar, I was terrified that you would ruin yourself because of me and so I thought that I could use your love to make you see sense but it was wrong, I was wrong. The choices for your conduct are  _your_  choices. I had no right to take that from you. Since being here, I have thought of my behavior and I feel ashamed that I had to come so far away to discover my weakness. I am sorry Prince, I should have been there for you, not make the situation worse.”

Legolas  heard her words and saw the emotion behind them. He could never stay angry at her for very long but he was grateful that she understood why he could not leave the battlefield. “You complicated it,” he spoke after a moment, “but you could never make anything in my life worse. I am glad you understand that I could not leave, that there are responsibilities I must uphold no matter what the consequence. I am who I am Melia and it is not in me to turn away from my duties, even if you mean life and death to me.”

Melia  took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply once more before answering, “I have never doubted your love for me, I only feared that you were going to destroy yourself in your vengeance against the Haradrim king.”

Legolas  blinked and lowered his gaze but a moment as he summed up the courage to respond. There was a multitude of feelings inside of him regarding that subject and he needed a pause to compose his thoughts.

“I could have killed him Mia. He was within my reach. I could have killed him or at the very least made him suffer just as torturously as he made us both suffer these past months but I could not do it.  I was faced with the choice and I realized that if I killed him or harmed him as I wished, I would only be harming myself. So much of me have become tainted in blood, my love for you is the one thing that has remained pure throughout everything that has transpired in Haradwraith. If I took his life in vengeance, that love would be soiled and I could not bear that. I have much to atone for Melia but I refused to atone for this too.”

“We have both of us much to atone for,” Melia said firmly, meeting his blue eyes in earnest, “but we will do it together. I left you once and though this time I thought I left you for the best reasons, I am still ashamed of my conduct.”

“Do not be,” Legolas placed a hand on her cheek, “you had cause in my behavior.”

“I love that you wish to absolve me but I know my sins as I am certain you know yours,” Melia replied. “I promise you on my life that as long as I walk this earth, I will walk it at your side.”

“That is all that I can ask,” Legolas answered, touched by the reaffirmation of that oath and sensing the conviction behind it. Perhaps even more than when she had returned to Eden Ardhon before their marriage.

“Now,” Melia smiled as she glanced at Gimli and then at Felamin and Hadar, “I want to introduce you both to my family and now  _yours_  as well.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Legolas smiled happily, kissing her lightly on the lips, “and after a visit shall we go home?”

Melia’s  eyes held his and nodded, “where you are, I  _am_  home.”

* * *

Legolas , Melia and Gimli lingered but a week in the Sunlands in which time the Lord of Eden Ardhon was introduced to his wife’s family who received the latest addition with the warmth and awe that could only be given to member of the First Born. The villagers of Bors looked upon him with some measure of anticipation, their knowledge of him as a person understandably clouded by what they knew of the First Born and his notorious reputation in Haradwraith. Legolas regretted it but accepted this was part of the penance he would have to pay for what he had done as the butcher of Axinar.

Despite the familiarity of returning to Melia, both husband and wife found that each had changed in the nine months that they had been apart. Though the changes in character were subtle, the week in the Sunlands where they were just themselves instead of the lord and lady of Eden Ardhon had been very liberating. It almost felt as if they were courting again as they revisited their feelings for each other without the complication of the world they had left behind. It had been a tender exploration of love making and reveling in the simple joy in being in each other’s presence again. Legolas was also pleased to visit some of the places in Melia’s youth since she knew all about the lands of his birth and he wished the same familiarity with her past.

Gimli  was a favorite among the Bors who had never seen a dwarf in their lives and his interest in their culture, particularly in the crafts, drew the attention of many village elders. He spent much of his time in deep discussions with craftsmen about their skills and after awhile, Legolas had to wonder who had come out of the exchange more rewarded. Judging by the wealth of knowledge that was shared among the dwarfs and his companions, it was difficult to say. Nevertheless, a short visit was as best as they could afford since Legolas intended to make good his promise to Aragorn. 

When he left Haradwraith forever, he wanted it to be in the company of his friends and the woman he loved.

After a tearful farewell with Melia’s family, particularly with Felamin and Hadar, they arrived in Mahazar to find that the western army was more than ready to depart. Erchirion had arrived in Haradwraith weeks before and during that time the second son of Imrahil’s line had worked closely with his father and his king to ensure the smooth beginning of his governorship when the western army finally set out for home.  With him, Erchirion had brought his new bride, Tarien of Anorien, having wed the lady in a hasty ceremony following to the surprise news of his appointment.  Legolas had met Erchirion before this occasion and found Aragorn’s choice to be a sound one. Certainly Imrahil was filled with pride at the selection.

In the meantime however, Melia was reunited with her beloved cousin Kirin.  Despite the fact that Kirin was now High Chieftain, the two cousins behaved as if they were young children once more and for the duration of their stay in Mahazar, there were days when Melia and Kirin were seldom apart. Thus when it was time for the conquering armies to depart, the parting was difficult for Melia most of all.  Kirin had helped her in her youth to become the woman she was in her adulthood and had brought a swift end to the war by his willingness to align himself with the Reunified Kingdom and its allies.

 “I shall miss you,” Melia said to Kirin who was returning to the Sunlands now that affairs were concluded in Mahazar.

Kirin looked upon her face with a smile, reminding Melia so much of her father that she was almost driven to tears, “I shall miss you cousin,” he said with equal emotion.

“My life would not have been as it was if it were not for you,” Melia replied, having waited for many years to thank him for his kindness and his aid in her youth. “You grew up as I imagined you would, into a great man. I always knew you had strength in you Kirin.”

“You and your father were the only ones,” the High Chieftain answered, forcing himself to maintain his composure because it would not do for his men to see his emotions exposed in such a way. “I am glad that you have happiness in the west Melia. You have found someone who cherishes you, whom I believe will never break your heart. That is more than most people acquire in a lifetime.  Be happy and always know that your family will welcome you home.”

Melia  blinked her tears and embraced Kirin hard, unaware that his words and her time in the Sunlands had reconciled many things for her.  She felt restored somehow and many of the regrets she carried with her during the years had found resolution at last.  “And I will be glad to know that I am not alone, that I have family.”

She kissed him gently on the cheek before he drew her to him in a warm embrace.  It was as if the years had never been and Melia was grateful that everything she had hoped for Kirin had come to pass. He was the man he wanted to be and though she regretted the deaths that placed him in the seat of power, she had always known he would be equal to it.  It had given her a great sense of satisfaction to know that under Kirin’s leadership, the Bors were able to forge a lasting alliance with Ruling Council and perhaps may one day take its place as one of its members.

“However,” Kirin said upon parting from her, “since it appears we are entering a new peace, I may follow Hezare’s lead  and come for a visit. Once I have spent some time at home, I may be inclined to see Eden Ardhon for myself.”

“You will be most welcome,” Melia declared, thrilled by the prospect even if she knew it could be many years before she saw him again. “If you are able, I would like you to bring Aunt Filamen with you as well.”

“I think you might see her sooner than you think,” Kirin smiled. “Our aunt is something of a wandering spirit and now that our women are less restricted, she may call upon you sooner rather than later.”

“I shall look forward to it then,” Melia answered and hugged him again.

And with that, Kirin, High Chieftain of the Bors, led his army back to the Sunlands and began the exodus that would see the western army departing Haradwraith bound for the west

And home.

* * *

Lothiriel  had a great deal of difficulty trying to acquaint herself with the fact that she had been married for almost a year. 

Unfortunately, it was a fact difficult to deny now that she was presiding over the celebration of the Spring Foaling.  For the people of the Mark whose primary means of support were the breeding of horse for the rest of Middle earth, the festival was an important cultural event.  All communities across Rohan celebrated the Foaling in their own way and it was one of the most anticipated occasions of the year. The festival, aptly named because it was the celebration of a successful breeding year, saw the gathering of hundreds in Edoras because nowhere was the Foaling  celebrated with as much grandeur than within the capital of the Rohirrim world.

For the festival, Edoras had transformed its fortress like appearance into a city of colour and vibrant energy.  Streets were decorated with the efforts of artisans who carved and crafted their bests for display on this day. It was difficult to imagine that the sometimes sedate city come to life in such spectacular bloom.   Lothiriel could not deny that she was swept in the atmosphere of colourful streamers, garlands and crafts decorating the buildings and streets. There were entertainers and performers, fire-eaters and jugglers.  A short time ago she had passed a bard who were telling a group of mesmerized children the thrilling story of Felarof, the great horse that bore Eorl into battle and was indirectly responsible for the Steward Cirion rewarding Eol with the lands that were now Rohan.

Lothiriel  had opened the festival by conducting the customary tribute to the Valar lord, Bema or Orome, as he was known to the elves. It was Bema who had brought from the west, the wild steeds that were ancestors to the Mearas.  In accordance with tradition, the horse masters of Meduseld would then present to the people, the new spring foals borne of that noble line.  The Mearas, who were capable of understanding the speech of men, had sworn allegiance to the King of the Mark and would only allow themselves to be ridden by him or his sons. This year, the breeding for these wonderful creatures had been particularly bountiful and was everyone was suitably impressed by the small stable of foals with their coats of snow white, silver and jet, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

The festival had almost been abandoned this year because it was customarily the king of the Mark who presided over the ceremony and with the war in the eastern realms, there was some who questioned the appropriateness of the event at such a time.  However, Lothiriel had insisted that it continue because she knew that was what Eomerwould have wished. He would not want his people gripped  in melancholy until his return.  Eomer would wish them to continue on with their lives and part of it was the festival of the Spring Foaling.  The queen of the Mark would stand in his stead and conduct it herself, she had said bravely to the court of Meduseld, hiding her anxiety in order to win Rohan its festival.  It had taken a long time for Lothiriel to feel confident enough to exert her authority as queen and though it was only a minor issue, she was rather proud of herself for it. Particularly when she saw how much the people of Edoras was enjoying the day.

For Lothiriel, the past year was wrought with its own trials; the least of it was becoming queen. When she was younger, she had always assumed that when marriage came, it would be to a nobleman and her aspirations in terms of title or rank did not extend past becoming mistress of her own house.  However, she had never dreamed that when she did wed, it would mean assuming the mantle of queen to a country and particularly one as large and impressive as Rohan.  Despite the months spent in Riddermark prior to her marriage, Lothiriel knew that she had a limited knowledge of Rohan and it people being cloistered in the walls of the Golden Hall.

It was only after her marriage, when Eomer was called away to the east that Lothiriel began to explore the land and acquaint herself with the people who saw her as queen. It had been difficult to make this study without Eomer and each new discovery was met with a pang of sadness because he was not here to hear of it.  However, she forced herself to learn and had driven Reonel, the captain of the guard almost mad with annoyance by her desire to ride out into the villages, to meet the people of Rohan, to see what could be done as queen to ease the burdens of their lives.  Edoras had been without a queen since the death of Theoden's wife and while Eowyn had played the part in some degree, it was not the same as being able to claim the title as one's own.

Fortunately, Lothiriel had now reason to cheer because the war in the east had ended and her brother Erchirion had left for Haradwraith many weeks ago to assume the title of governor for the conquered country.  It was expected that his arrival would send the western army home for Lothiriel, the day of that arrival seemed endless by her reckoning. She had but spent a night with Eomer before he had left to join King Elessar and that had left her to spend the first year of their married life alone. She bore no resentment for this but she worried not only for her king but also for her father, who was fighting yet another war. 

Equally taxing during the past year was her guilt regarding the use of magic during the Dunlending assault upon Edoras. Using her abilities to protect the enemy who had broken through the hiding place of the women and children during the battle, Lothiriel had unwittingly killed the men who would have surely done far worse had they been allowed the opportunity.  It was the first time Lothiriel had truly set out to kill anyone and though she was thinking only of protecting herself and the women and children with her, it did not change the outcome.  When the deed was done, Lothiriel had been left with the realisation that she had deliberately set out to take a life.  It was a sobering realisation that made her wary of using her powers for fear she might harm someone if anything were to go wrong.

"We should be retiring to the hall soon," Lothiriel heard Odrade’s voice in her ear.

Odrade  was wife to wife to Carleon, the Third Marshall of the Mark who was in the east with the rest of the western army.  Although Odrade had been acerbic to say the least during their first encounter, the two women had somehow forged a deep friendship in the past year and Lothiriel had invited Odrade to stay at the Golden Hall until their husbands’ return. That had been almost six months ago and while the news from abroad told them that their time together was dwindling, Lothiriel was grateful for the companionship.

"Oh," Lothiriel said as her distractive thoughts faded away.

"The feast will not begin until you return to the Golden Hall," Odrade explained, having attended many festivals of the Spring Foaling in her lifetime and was more than capable of guiding the queen through the rituals required.

"I hate presiding over this feast," Lothiriel grumbled as she straightened up in queen’s seat perched upon a dais set out for the nobles as they watched the entertainers and performers.  "This is Eomer's duty, not mine."

Odrade  smiled to herself, becoming more than accustomed to these complaints after the past year. Lothiriel would profess her unhappiness and then carry exactly what was required of her and some times more than she was expected.  Whether or not the young woman knew it, her trips to visit the folk of Rohan, much to the consternation of Reonel, had made her beloved among the Rohirrim people.

"You are queen," Odrade said patiently, "it is expected of you."

"I was under the impression that the only thing a queen is expected to do is to provide an heir," Lothiriel frowned, sweeping her gaze over the crowds of people watching the entertainments. She hated to leave all this colour in order to play host for the dining pleasure of Rohan's aristocracy in the Golden Hall.

"Well I am certain that when he returns, you will be happy to make that achievement by numerous attempts," Odrade remarked, a wicked gleam in her eye.

"You have the mind of tavern wench," Lothiriel replied with a smile of equal mischief.

"No, I have been without a husband for a year," the lady retorted in good measure.

"Oh well," Lothiriel sighed realising she had a duty to perform and delaying the inevitable would avail her nothing, "I suppose it is better get this over and one with"

The queen prepared to rise from her seat when suddenly she caught sight of Reonel fighting his way through the crowd. The captain of the guard was navigating swiftly through the bodies between himself and the dais. His expression was one of excitement but everyone's attention was still fixed upon the troop of acrobats presently astonishing the crowd with their impressive skills and paid little attention to his attempts to get by them swiftly. Lothiriel watched him for a moment as he reached the sentries guarding the queen's viewing gallery. 

"Something is happening," Lothiriel whispered to Odrade, calling the lady's attention to Reonel's approach.

As if in answer to that statement, she heard the Great Horn of Helm Hammerhand that had been transported from Helm's Deep following the great battle fought there, echoing through the air.  Eomer had ordered it built into Edoras, using it as a symbol of connection between his rule as the third line of kings and those who had come before him.   The Horn ended the celebration abruptly. Its sound swept through the crowds, through the streets and reached every corner of the Rohirrim capital.  It stirred the heart of all who heard it, reminding them of their past, their present and in some way even their future. Within seconds, the entire city of Edoras was as silent as grave and no one spoke, mesmerized by the powerful song of the great horn. 

When the horn ceased it blaring, another voice cried out, slicing through the quiet. It came from the walls of the city, from a guard occupying the watchtower.

"The king returns!"

The news was met with a gamut of emotions, shock being the initial reaction. As the announcement was repeated once more, shock melted away into acceptance and from acceptance there was rejoicing and like the tide rolling into the shore, the wave of happiness at the return of the thing became an explosion of sound that was deafening to those not making it, until all that could be heard was the roar of cheering and clapping.

Lothiriel  had to sit down again because the news was almost too much. 

He was home. After almost a year alone, he was home.

She almost wept from the joy of it.  Instead, she managed to keep her wits about her and issued  orders to Odrade to go to the Golden Hall, to tell Glyneth that the king was home and that preparations should be made for his arrival immediately.  Odrade nodded mutely and departed, leaving Lothiriel to remain where she was.  She saw Reonelorganizing the guards, having them dismiss the entertainers for the moment and taking charge of the crowd to ensure that when the king entered the city, he would have a clear path to the dais and then to the Golden hall.

Lothiriel  wanted to run through the crowds, to greet Eomer at the gates of the city but she remained where she was, her knuckles digging into the wooden arms of her chair as she waited for the Rohirrim army to enter Edoras. She felt it terribly unfair that protocol and decorum required for her to show some semblance of propriety by remaining here when all she wanted to do was reach Eomer and fling herself into his arms.  She had not felt this hungry yearning to see him since the first few months of their marriage, when the aching for him after he had departed into the east was almost unbearable.  Fortunately, time had a way of eroding the edge of such acute need and the year had seen her longing recede into something almost manageable.

Until now. 

All that seemed to fade away as she heard the crowds cheering loudly. While she could not see him yet, she could hear the reaction of Edoras’ folk as their king and his company passed through the gates. She could imagine their happiness as he progressed up the streets towards the Golden Hall, a procession of warriors riding behind him as the street was flanked with cheering onlookers. The sound grew louder with people waiting in anticipation for the procession to pass them. Lothiriel craned her neck to see past the bodies and could only catch sight of a wisp of color that may have been the Rohirrim banner.

There was a saying that the best things come to those who await in the longest and for Lothiriel, did certainly felt true because when she saw Eomer appear before her at last, she thought she might die from the sheer happiness of seeing him. Like the rest of the warriors who had made that long journey to the east and had now returned at his side, Eomer looked well but unmistakably in need of rest.  His skin was brown from the heat of the Haradrim climate, his hair bleached under the hot sun.  His eyes however, found hers quickly and though their first meeting was devoid of the privacy he would have desired, Lothiriel had no doubt how happy he was to see her. 

Lothiriel  stood up when Eomer dismounted his horse, unable to remain seated anymore.  She saw Odrade next to her exchanging and affection look with her husband, Carleon who had climbed out of the saddle after Eomer.  The king looked at his people, a smile stealing across his face as he waved at them. However, it was clear that his mind was upon only one thing. Striding forward, he closed the distance between himself and the dais in a number of long steps.

“My lord,” she said upon reaching him, her voice shaking with emotion.  Around them, the crowd had fallen silent, their breaths held in anticipation of this reunion.

Eomer  removed his helmet with both hands before running his fingers through his unruly hair. He wished that he were washed and cleaned because she seemed too pristine to be marred by the dirt on his clothes and the dust that followed them from Haradwraith.  He saw the emotion in her eyes and stared back at her with the same sentiments. He had not realised until now how much he had missed her, how dear she was to him. During the war, she was the image he clung to when he had been wounded in battle and when things were at their worst, knowing that she was here waiting for him to return had given him the will to continue.

“You look well,” he said with a smile, mildly aware of the eyes upon them. Unlike Lothiriel, Eomer cared little for propriety.  “I am glad I did not miss the festival.”

“As am I,” she answered reaching for his hand.

For Eomer, touching her hand was not quite good enough for him and when it was within the palm of his gauntlet, the king of the Mark drew his lady to him in one swift movement. He embraced her wholly as his mouth claimed hers in a bruising kiss. Around them both, the crowd cheer at this unabashed show of affection between their king and queen but neither Lothiriel nor Eomer was aware of it. Both were to lost in the kiss to note that their exchange was being received with such delight.  Lothiriel felt her head swim because she had forgotten how wonderful it was to kiss him, to feel his lips and his body pressed against hers. He smelled of leather and sweat, a musk filed aromas that seared itself into her mind and released the tears of joy she had been attempting to suppress.

“What is this?” He asked with concern when he saw the moisture running down her cheeks after they parted.  His finger captured a single tear as it rolled down her skin.

“It is nothing,” Lothiriel answered, her voice still choked with emotion. “I am so happy you are home. I have thought of you every day since you have been away. Seeing you here is almost like a dream.”

“I am no dream,” Eomer said firmly, holding her hand in his and kissing her forehead. “I am your husband and I am home. I promise you we will make up for lost time.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Lothiriel answered and then asked further, “my father, is he well?”

“He is well,” Eomer replied, remembering his last meeting with Imrahil shortly before they had parted company, he for Dol Amroth and Eomer for Rohan.  “He wishes us to visit soon. I think that after a bit of rest, we will be able to accommodate him.”

Lothiriel’s  smile illuminated her face and lit her eyes with pleasure, “I should like that my lord. In the meantime however, you need to be rested. Shall I call an end to feast?”

“Oh course not,” Eomer straightened up and stared at her with a happy grin, “this is the festival of the Spring Foaling. The feast is a celebration of life and there can be no better tribute for our homecoming than sharing this day with our people.”

And with that Lothiriel was happy to agree.

* * *

 

The past year for the Evenstar had been one of turbulence.

Having lost her husband to the Desert Campaigns of Haradwraith, the queen of the Reunified Kingdom found herself host to a number of guests in the wake of the attacks that had assailed the western lands of Middle earth.  From Eowyn of Ithilien to the elves of Eden Ardhon, Arwen had never thought the palace in which she resided with Aragorn could be so small.  However, the chaos of so many in that limited place were something she had become accustomed to over time and to some extent enjoyed. It reminded her a little of Imladris when Elrond had been its master.  In better days the last homely house was often home to many visitors and though Elrond was sometimes inclined to lock himself in his study and not emerge for the sake of his sanity, Arwen was certain he enjoyed the activity.

However, with the war’s end all that chaos had dwindled away into nothingness. Eowyn had been the first to depart. The former shield maiden of Rohan and the Lady of Ithilien was never happy unless she was mistress of her own home. It was even more true now that her son was born after a rather trying delivery.  Nevertheless Eowyn laboured through it as she did most things, without complaint and in usual good humour.  Though how much good humour she had managed to display when attempting to force something out of her body the size of melon through an opening so small was problematic at best. 

Eowyn  had waited until her strength had returned before thanking Arwen for her hospitality and setting off with a small entourage of guards chosen by Captain Darond to protect her during the journey. Normally, this would be a redundant gesture as Eowyn had proven quite clearly that she was more than capable of fending for herself.  However, she had surprised Arwen by accepting the company of guards and confessed that it was because her son’s safety outweighed her need to prove her ability to defend herself.

Arwen  had been sad to see Eowyn leave but knew it had to be.  Following the departure of the shield maiden and her new son, the elves of Eden Ardhon had also professed a similar desire to return to the woods of Ithilien.  During their stay in the White City, some had chosen to leave for the Undying Lands, deciding that they had no wish to remain in a world as cruel as the one who had seen the ravaging of their colony.  However, a large portion remained and for a time, Arwen enjoyed the company of other elves, reminding her of her youth in Imlardis and Lothlorien When the decision was made to leave, word had been sent to Aglarond for assistance.  Apparently, a number of the constructions in Eden Ardhon were the product of Gimli’s ingenuity and the elves wished those constructs to be rebuilt as a symbol of Eden Ardhon’s ability to endure.

With the departure of the elves, Arwen’s duties had come to an end and she had to confess missing her guests deeply.  It was difficult to become accustomed to the silence after Melia’s brooding, Eowyn’s temperamental pregnancy and the elves moving silently about but still managing to create a kind of chaos by their presence.  She missed them all and supposed that it was always going to be an inevitability that she found herself in this place. Arwen also realised that she missed them so much because she knew that whilst they were here, she was too busy to remember how much she longed for Aragorn.

Now that they were gone, that was nothing left for her but to wait until his eventual return.

She supposed that she was more fortunate than most because the war had ended with Aragorn surviving it unscathed.  He would be coming home as soon as matters were put in order in Haradwraith and for Arwen that day could not come soon enough.   She had never realised how empty the White Tower could be without him and while Eldarion was her one consolation in all this, she felt incomplete without her beloved Estel.

Arwen  languished in the limbo of waiting, aware that the day of Aragorn’s return was drawing closer after Erchirion of Dol Amroth had set out for Far Harad.  With his wife the Lady Tarien, whom Arwen found to be pleasant enough though rather sad for some inexplicable reason, the second son of Imrahil had been honoured at the title given to him and even more so because he would the first to govern an eastern land.  Arwen knew that once Erchirion had assumed his duties in Haradwraith, Aragorn and the western army would finally begin the journey home.

The days stretched into weeks and inevitably the weeks became months. Arwen had begin to think that she would be unable to endure this endless waiting without going quite mad until news reached her that the king returned at last to the White City.  His arrival into the city would spark nothing less than a celebration in the streets and she had no wish to see their reunion take place before the eyes of all their people.  This demanded privacy and Arwen was determined to have it.  Instead of waiting his arrival in Minas Tirith, Arwen took her horse and rode out to meet him instead.

* * *

Aragorn had thought seeing the White City in the distance was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.  That was until he saw Arwen riding towards him.

It had been a long journey with many of their allies having broken away to return to their respective lands. Eomer, Gimli and the Rohirrim had taken the road to Rohan and Faramir had sent the armies of Ithilien to the Fortress of the Eastern Eye. The elves of Lorien and Eryn Lasgalen, led by Haldir had departed before reaching the White City, while Legolas and Melia had returned to Eden Ardhon.  It was agreed that once they had time to rest and attend to their own realms respectively, they would gather in the White City and celebrate their victory in true spirit of the occasion.

“Undomiel,” Aragorn declared when he dismounted his horse and met her upon the south road leading into Minas Tirith.  Flanking their path home was the Anduin and like everything he had seen since returning to Gondor, it had replenished him considerably to see the great river.  However, no tonic could infuse his spirit with as much joy as seeing the woman before him.

“I am sorry,” Arwen apologised as she hurried into his arms, “I could not wait to see you.”

Aragorn did not answer because the embrace and the kiss he pressed against her lips was response enough.  He did not care that his army was watching the reunion, did not care that a king should be the paragon of propriety. When it came to his beloved Undomiel, there were no rules, only emotions and a blind subservience to his passion for her. Aragorn took greedy breaths of her scent, savoured the feel of her body against him and almost wept at how good it felt to be in her presence once again. After so long apart, the desert he had crossed to reach her had almost seemed endless but it was a journey he would take as many times as necessary if this was his reward.

“I do not care, I am glad you are here,” Aragorn said when they finally met each other’s eyes. “I would  take any minute alone with you than during the ceremony that will undoubtedly take place when I return to the city. It has been too long since I held your face in my eyes and I am happy that we can savour this moment for ourselves.”

“As am I,” Arwen smiled at him, her sapphire eyes glistening with tears and saw that while he was too much of a man to show his emotions in a similar display, his eyes betrayed the depths of his joy at being home again. “You have brought peace to Gondor and its allies Estel, as I always knew you would.  Middle earth is embarking upon a road it has never known before, a road that will herald a new age of peace.”

Aragorn did not know whether or not the war in the desert had delivered the peace she claimed but there was a noticeable hint of hope in the air since their departure from Haradwraith. For Aragorn, it was enough that the seeds of a brighter future had been planted in the eastern lands. He did not delude himself in thinking that there were no more wars ahead of him but at least for a while, Gondor would know peace.

“I would fight a thousand wars if it means coming home to you Undomiel,” he said softly.  “The age of kings can be left to my heirs, my desire for peace is so that I will never be parted from you again.”

Arwen  embraced her king once more and while she knew that statement was not entirely true, she relished the sentiment behind him.

“Come Estel,” Arwen said looking at him, “let us go home.”

Aragorn grinned and replied, “try and keep me away.”

* * *

It was difficult to believe that less than a year ago, the fortress of the Eastern Eye was almost in danger of crumbling to the ground. 

Looking upon it now, Faramir could see the new sections of wall that had been rebuilt in the wake of the attack by the combined forces of the Easterling Confederacy.  He could see the fresh mortar sealing cracks in walls that had not succumbed to the relentless assault by the mumakils and some parts that were constructed out of new bricks entirely.  The fortress was a patchwork of old and new brick, distinguished because weathering and grime had yet to saturate the stone.  However, despite the cosmetic flaws, Faramir was glad to see his home of the past two years restored in part to its former glory.

He had arrived in Minas Tirith to learn that Eowyn had returned home shortly after the news of the war's end had reached her. She was one of many who had departed the White City following that news. He had asked her to stay in Minas Tirith fearing her safety after the assault upon the Eastern Eye had almost killed her and their baby. However with conclusion of the war, Faramir surmised that Eowyn saw no reason to remain in Gondor now that there was no longer a threat to Ithilien by the Confederacy.  As much as his wife loved spending time with the Evenstar, she was much too wilful and independent to remain a guest in someone else's home when she had her own waiting for her.

Eowyn  was not the only one to depart Minas Tirith following the news of their victory at Haradwraith. The elves led by Aloin, one of Legolas' trusted march wardens, had elected to return to the woods of South Ithilien, to restore the colony of Eden Ardhon now that it was no longer under threat from Easterling or Haradrim invaders.  A small handful of Ithilien's elves had elected to make the crossing to the Undying Lands but the large majority would not be chased away by the villains who had caused such destruction to their fledgling community.  Faramir was grateful of this because he had become accustomed to his elven neighbours and felt that they added to land of Ithilien by their presence.

Dawn was freshly broken when Faramir entered the fortress. In truth, he had chosen this hour for his return because he had no wish to deal with the fanfare that would ripple through the common folk residing in the fortress at his arrival.  He wanted no ceremony to mark his return for Faramir was not one who tolerated a great deal of attention. He supposed it had to do with his youth where he tried to avoid Denethor's gaze by remaining as anonymous and then later as a Ranger, where it was necessary to blend into the background to go about unnoticed.

Slipping quietly into wing of the fortress that was allocated as his personal residence, Faramir walked through the quiet halls taking in the sensation of being home again. He ran his fingers along the hard stone; pausing briefly at the hallway to observe the painting of Henneth Annun he liked so much before resuming his journey towards his bedchamber.  It was still dark within the corridors and not many were about except for a handful of household staff whose duties required an early start. He somehow managed to avoid them all as he reached the door leading into the suite of rooms belonging to the Prince of Ithilien and his lady.

Stealing into the room with the skill possessed only by Rangers or elves, Faramir was greeted with the soft illumination of candles burning in the lamps throughout the suite.  The rooms was bathed with an amber glow and he delved deeper saw Eowyn on their bed, sleeping fitfully against the softness of quilts and mattresses.  For a moment, he just stared at her, revelling in the sight of her golden hair framing her face. There were dark circles beneath her eyes that gave him concern for it was a sure sign of exhaustion. She gave no indication of being aware of his presence, which was a testament to her weariness. His wife was as alert as any battle-hardened warrior. Only exhaustion could allow her to permit anyone to catch her unawares.

He was about to take a step forward when a small sound from the corner of the room halted his advance. Turning slowly to the direction it had come, Faramir’s breath caught as he remembered his family no longer comprised of himself and his wife.  In his happiness to see Eowyn, he had forgotten the new life that had come into this world while he had been leagues away fighting the enemy. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Faramir approached the polished wooden crib on Eowyn side of the bed.  The sounds repeated, happy chortling noises of an infant who was clearly not asleep like his weary mother.

The babe was very much awake, mesmerized by an odd construct of coloured birds dangling over his crib It seemed to move with the direction of the wind, making it seemed as if the birds were in flight.  There were intricate designs upon the toy and Faramir surmised quickly that this was a gift from the elves for it was dainty and fine and looked like something the elves would fashion.  Blue eyes followed the movement made, drawing an delighted chortled from the infant who was waving his arms about in excitement.  Faramir stood there for a moment, simply staring.

This was his son.

The child turned an unsteady head towards Faramir, sensing his presence. Familiar eyes connected with him across the short distance. Faramir saw his own blue eyes staring back at him but his son’s features were an amalgamation of the people he loved. The shape of the face and the fine gold hair was his mother’s, but when the infant stared at Faramir trying to decide who this new person was, his brow knotting into a serious expression of scrutiny, Faramir’s breath caught because he saw Boromir there too. Suddenly, Faramir had come to understand what emotions had been driving Aragorn when Eldarion was born. One could spend hours simply looking into that face, trying to discern the secrets behind those innocent eyes that saw the world as something new and wonderful.

A set of arms slid around Faramir’s waist and he felt Eowyn’s body pressing against him from behind as she rested her chin upon his shoulder, sharing the moment with him.

“Is he not beautiful?” she said with pride.

“He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Faramir managed to answer, his voice escaping him with more emotion than he had intended to show.

“On that we agree,” Eowyn said breaking away from him. She had awakened to see him standing before the crib, thinking for a moment that she was dreaming but when she saw Faramir’s eyes misting with emotion, she knew that he was no dream. Dreams did not weep.  Eowyn leaned over and reached into the crib, sweeping her son into her arms before turning around to present him to his father.

The child upon recognising the familiar scent of his mother, bounced happily in her grip as Eowyn drifted to her husband’s side. “This is your son, Boromir.”

Faramir  took the child from her gingerly, uncertain if he had handled anything as precious in his life. The babe stared at him critically and once again, Faramir was struck by the resemblance of his expression to Boromir’s frown whenever something suited him ill.  Faramir planted a gentle kiss on his forehead and noted that his son’s scent was a mixture of newborn infant, milk and his mother. It was intoxicating.

“I should have been here with you,” he said to Eowyn, wishing more than anything that he could have been here after seeing his son for the first time.

“You are here now,” Eowyn leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, careful of the babe between them.

“I have missed you beyond my ability to describe,” Faramir replied in a heartfelt confession. “There was not a day that passed where you not in my thoughts. I wish I could have been here with you to see our son into the world. I cannot express my regret that I could not share the occasion with you.”

Eowyn  took the babe from his arms and settled the infant into his crib once more, her heart pounding with as much emotion as Faramir was feeling. Once little Boromir was settled in his bed, Eowyn turned to her husband.

“I wish you could have been there,” she said unable to deny her feelings on that matter. She took his face in her hands and stared into his eyes. “However, it matters little because the event is behind us and we have our whole lives ahead of us.”   
“You are far wiser than I wife,” Faramir said drawing her to him.

“That goes without saying,” Eowyn laughed and allowed her husband to take her into his embrace.

There was so much to look forward, so much promise in the breaking dawn outside their window. As she felt his arms around him, Eowyn knew that today would mark the beginning of the future they intended to share together.

A future with their son.

* * *

Eden Ardhon endured.

The colony was much devastated by the attacks of  fire, the rampage of the mumakils and the Easterlings alike but the elven community still remained..  It endured even if it was left somewhat tarnished from its battles.  Despite the violence that had almost destroyed it, Eden Ardhon was no less beautiful to the ones who had put heart and soul into its construction or the Prince who had first conceived the idea of making a home for the elves in these glorious woods. Yavanna had blessed the forest with her gifts and though many of the trees still bore the scars of flame, the wood had survived and thrived in the wake of the recent calamity.  They had suffered the ravages of war with an almost defiant spirit and when the elves returned to Eden Ardhon, they found the forest bearing its injuries with a blooming passion for life that would not be denied.

Many of the buildings were still standing but an equal number had also been destroyed.  Fortunately, they had returned to find that Aloin, supervising the business of rebuilding the colony. The work was being undertaken with a fierce passion by all the elves whom were determined to show that it would take more than the EasterlingConfederacy to break their spirit.   Nor were they alone in this effort. Aware of the great love that existed between their own lord and the Prince of Mirkwood, the dwarves of Aglarond had been more than willing to volunteer their assistance.  Legolas had smiled, remembering the great pride that crossed over the Gimli’s face when he learnt of this gesture by his people. He had almost been tempted to remain behind and helped with the construction if Legolas had not ordered him to see his lady at the Glittering Caves first.

“There is much work ahead,” Legolas stated as he and Melia surveyed the damage.  

“True,” Melia agreed, forcing away the memories of fire and cruelty that had revisited her repeatedly since returning to Eden Ardhon.  However, she forced it away because it was time to move on, time to get on with the business of living instead of becoming mired in memories of darkness that served no purpose than drain a mending soul.  There would be a day when her thoughts of Anna would not entirely be mired in regret.  The child deserved better than to live in her heart as a tragic memory.  Melia wanted to remember the privilege of knowing Anna, even if it was for a short time.

“Are you alright?” Legolas asked, seeing the distant gleam in her eye.

“Yes,” Melia nodded, grateful for the arm that snaked around her waist and pulled her to his side. “I was just thinking of how glad I am to be home with you..”

“It has been a difficult road Mia,” Legolas confessed, thinking of the journey he had taken this past year, the dark places he had  found himself and had fortunately, found strength to escape.  He was a little more tarnished than he used to be but perhaps the humility resulting from it was not such a bad thing.  His opinion of himself and his world had changed. Perhaps he had fallen a little from grace but it did not make him any less, simply more aware that he was allowed his mistakes like any other person.  “I wish Nunaur were here.”

“He is,” Melia said resting her head against his shoulder as she looked at the elves working to rebuild Eden Ardhon. “He exists in your heart and you will carry him with you forever.”

“As I will carry you,” he answered kissing her forehead gently.

“Do you think of that day Prince?” Melia raised her eyes to his. “The day when I am no longer with you?”

“Yes,” Legolas nodded, wondering if she knew just how much he feared the inevitable end of their life together. “However, I have learnt that I cannot change what must be, so I will savour every moment with you that I can and be satisfied that it is enough. I have come to learn of late that it is the now that matters most of all because tomorrow is filled with uncertainties.”

She saw the shadow in his eyes, the sadness over what he had been driven to do in Haradwraith and knew that it would be a long time before her Prince could truly feel absolved of his actions.  He had brought himself back from the brink but Melia suspected he would always be ashamed of allowing himself to go so near to the edge to begin with.

“You can be certain of one thing,” Melia put her hand on his face and made him look at her. “I love you and I will never leave you.”

“So you say now,” he teased, “I’ll probably wake up tomorrow and found that you have fled again. This time to Valinor most likely.”

Melia  gave him a look and retorted, “you are impossible.”

Kissing her once more, Legolas remarked with a smile, “I am not the only one.”

** THE END **

 

I hope you've enjoyed this series and would ask you to check out my Modern Age series which is somewhat related to this one. 

 

[The Patient](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672088/chapters/3549944)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Yes I am aware that Eowyn and Faramir's son was called Elboron but the nature of the relationship between Boromir and Faramir in the movies, makes me feel that he would have named his son after his brother.


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